War of elves
by Schattenjagd
Summary: The relationships between Rivendell and Greenwood are strained. Over centuries, the mistrust grows, a war of elves seemingly unavoidable. When an injured woodelf ends up in Elrond's healing ward, will it lead to war or will the two Realms finally grow closer together ... Characters: Legolas, Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, OCs, Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir
1. 1: A king in Rivendell

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkiens work and I just borrowed some of the professors characters, but they belong to him and to him only. The plot however and those characters you do not recognize belong to me**

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As much as Elrond hated to admit it: He was nervous. If he had had just an ounce less self-control, he would be pacing up and down in the courtyard. It had taken him ages to convince King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm of Greenwood to make the journey over the Misty Mountains to Rivendell in order to discuss further relationships between their two Realms. In the past, they had barely talked with each other, Thranduil refusing to welcome anyone in his gigantic castle in the side of the hill in the midst of Greenwood the Great. Thranduil did not care what happened outside of his kingdom and he was busy with the increasing spider and orc attacks. He never cared what happened behind his borders and visits from other realms had always been rare.

The last time Elrond had talked with the proud elf in person, they had ended up in a heated argument in which Elrond had said many things which should have remained unsaid. Thranduil's flaring temper had always been hardly controlled, and it flared up rashly with the unfounded insults Elrond had said in frustration and exhaustion. Not that Thranduil himself had not retorted in kind. Their fight did quickly go out of hand. Since then, the few messages shared between the rulers there written in distanced, formal language.

Still, Greenwood was at peace and the King enjoyed his free time with his wife and their children. They had five children, as far as Elrond recalled. He did not even know all of their names. But how was he supposed to? It was not as if Thranduil had been sending letters informing him of their existence. Not even than Alcanor had been born, the king's eldest son and therefore heir to the throne of Greenwood. In the inside, Elrond was still furious about this fact. It was not as if something like that would not have been interesting for leaders of other Realms! Not just for him, but the king of the blasted wood had also not informed Lord Celeborn or Lady Galadriel. It had been Mithrandir who had told him one evening that the stern elven king had become a father a few years prior. But not even the wise wizard knew the exact age of the Prince. He would be around Elladan's and Elrohir's age, Elrond figured. A few years older probably. His gaze wandered to the two figures of the twins who her pulling faces at each other in a vain attempt to stand still. He had sent Thranduil and Luineth a letter informing them of the twin's birth back then. The reply had been short and unsurprisingly it had come from Luineth and not her husband.

Secretly, Elrond wondered what kind of a father the stern elven king could possibly be. Seconds later he regretted his thoughts for he knew too little about the younger elf to judge him as a parent.

But maybe he would get a little insight today: Crown Prince Alcanor would accompany his father on this trip. Thranduil had at first refused to take his son with him, suspicious and untrusting as he was suspecting a conspiracy. It had needed all of the wise half-elf's diplomacy to make Thranduil even consider Elrond's suggestion to take Alcanor with him. Even so, in Elrond's opinion the king had agreed too quickly. And the elf might sometimes be annoyingly stubborn, but he was definitely not an idiot. He was a very intelligent man.

He had told Elladan and Elrohir over and over again, that they would not be allowed to prank anyone while King Thranduil, Crown Prince Alcanor and their bodyguard were staying in Rivendell. The twins seemed to understand, even though they had protested loudly.

Now the three of them were standing next to each other in the courtyard. Elladan and Elrohir had stopped their constant bickering after they had felt their father's stern gaze upon them. They were nervous too.

Erestor came to join them silently, his gaze wide and sharp like a hawks. He wore his fine reddish tunic which matched the golden one of Elrond and the noble brown ones of the twins perfectly. Glorfindel already stood a couple of meters away, dressed in his hunting garment. His long blond hair gave him an angelic look and his inner light glowed bright enough to make bystanders forget about the simplicity of his leather clothes.

Arwen was not in Rivendell, she was staying in Lorien with her grandmother. Celebrian had accompanied her.

The pleasant ring of a horn was heard through the warm air of the beautiful spring day. King Thranduil and his company were closing in. One more time Elrond straightened and shot a glance towards his two sons. Those were surprisingly nodding in agreement and looked ahead seriously. The elven lord sighed relieved.

Just then he spotted light getting reflected on metal armour. His eyebrows rose in discontent. King Thranduil was clad in a silver amour, two swords at his side. His long silver hair was floating in the breeze and the crown adoring his forehead was made of thorns and leaves interlaced into a metal frame. Soldiers in green metal armour where riding by their king's side, eyes watchful, faces almost entirely hidden behind helmets.

Added to the frown which was showing on his face, Elrond felt his body shudder. Seeing the elves of Greenwood ready for battle was intimidating. Fear reached for his heart in an icy fist. The wood elves did not fight in steel armour. They fought in leather armour and with bows, hidden among trees. If Thranduil had decided to choose this garment, the relationships between their two Realms were a lot worse than Elrond had thought they were. This garment was only ever adored for war. An open war outside of the protective woods these elves loved so much. How could he have missed this?

Thranduil was the only one not wearing a helmet. Icy blue eyes met brown ones and the air stilled around the two lords. Guards led their horses over the bridge and positioned them at the sides of the courtyard. The king followed slowly, his gaze watchful and never leaving Elrond. By the Valar! What did this elf expect? Did he think Elrond would greet him with a sword in his hand? That the only reason he was asking the king to travel this way was to kill him? The distrust in these blue orbs hurt the healer almost physically. He had had the intention to ease the strain between the two realms and only now noticed that his old brother in arms was expecting the exact opposite.

"Mae govannen, King Thranduil," Glorfindel said and bowed, a smile on his lips. Thranduil nodded towards him.

He then turned to Elrond. He inclined his head slightly, bringing his right hand to rest just above his heart. His face was emotionless but Elrond still felt the distrust radiating.

"Mae govannen, King Thranduil," he greeted as well, repeating the gesture of the proud elf before him. "Welcome to Rivendell. It has been a long time. I hope your journey has been pleasant."

Finally, King Thranduil dismounted. Two of his guards did as well and positioned themselves next to their king.

"It has been," Thranduil agreed solemnly.

"May I introduce you to my sons: Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir. And of course you know Lord Erestor here."

"It is an honour to meet you, my lord. We have heard much about you," the twins greeted in unison, both bowing and showing their respect. Elrond smiled.

"I do not doubt that," Thranduil answered. No one missed the fact, that the King did not return the civilities but kept quiet.

"Where is your son, Thranduil? I have been looking forward to finally meet Prince Alcanor. Is he not with you?" Elrond asked. He did not know whether or not to be annoyed that Thranduil did obviously not bring his son along even though he had said he would. But at least he now knew why Thranduil had been so reluctant to even consider the thought: If the king saw the relationship of their realms at a brick of war, the healer's request Thranduil should bring his heir along with him would have sounded uncomfortably suspicious.

"The last time I checked a king was still allowed to change his mind," Thranduil answered quickly and coldly.

"Of course. I was just wondering," Elrond stated calmly, bowing his head. "My servants prepared rooms for you and your party. We will serve lunch in an hour time. We'd be honoured if you joined us but if you prefer to rest first your lunch can be brought to your rooms."

"Thank you. We will take your invitation and join your table," Thranduil exclaimed. "Could you lead the way?"

Elrond smiled and turned to show the king and his soldiers to their rooms. He caught Glorfindel's worried glance and nodded reassuringly. Luckily the balrog-slayer had organised for the rooms of the king and his party to be close together. If it had been differently, it would have led to even more suspicious glances and awkward conversations.

Twenty guards had accompanied the king and they were now dismounting in the courtyard. Elladan and Elrohir offered their assistance and it was reluctantly taken.

"Your home is as beautiful as ever, Lord Elrond," Thranduil suddenly spoke up beside him. His step was proud and strong and his eyes were now trained on the beautiful gardens they passed. Surprised by the compliment Elrond simply nodded with a smile.

* * *

Elrond looked up and down at the table. Almost all of Thranduil's soldiers were already seated with their helmets sitting on the floor next to them. They were conversing quietly, here and there eyeing the Noldor elves. They were as mistrustful as their king and Elrond knew this would be a long couple of weeks. He had to be careful what to say and do, for the little trust the wood elves had for foreigners could easily be crushed.

The doors opened and Thranduil stepped in, followed by the two guards who had not left his side so far. He was still clad in his armour, refusing to fall back to the more delicate kingly robes which usually adored his slim form.

Tensed silence filled the room. Elrond quickly stood, greeting the newcomer warmly and gesturing to the free seat next to his.

"We will need one more seat here," Thranduil demanded calmly. Astonished the healer stared at him. Luckily Glorfindel reacted more efficient. He stood and gestured towards the now free seat.

Thranduil nodded in thanks. He then turned to his guards and waved them away. One of them hurried towards the other end of the table, taking his helmet off and sitting down beside his comrades, whispering silently. The other elf however did not move away. Instead he reached up to pull the helmet off his head. Silver white hair fall down and a very young face was revealed. Even for an elf, he was incredible handsome. Well, rather elfling than elf, for he could not be older an equivalent to a thirteen-year-old human. Piercing silver eyes met Elrond's and Alcanor – his features left no doubt that this soldier was Thranduil's son – bowed slightly, a sneering and calm smile tugging at his lips.

He was so young. Too young to be wearing an armour. Too young to be carrying his weapons with the implicitness which with he did. He knew what he was doing. He seemed so grown up. The thought frightened Elrond. His sons and Alcanor must be close in age but he still seemed so much older and wiser.

"Lord Elrond. I thank you for your invitation and I would appreciate it if you, your sons, Lord Glorfindel and the other Noldor present would stop staring at me, my Lord." This time a real smile spread across his features and Elrond felt amusement rising about the friendly jab.

"Forgive me, Prince Alcanor. It is an honour to finally meet you. I was … surprised to see someone young carry weapons."

Suddenly the bright blue eyes darkened.

"It is necessary," Alcanor stated, his emotions successfully hidden behind a mask of indifference. "Spiders and orcs do not ask for your age before charging. You might live save in your protected valley, Lord Elrond, but not all elves are lucky enough to have the protection of an artefact as powerful as the one you are bearing. In Greenwood every child needs to be able to defend themselves."

All Noldor and Lord Glorfindel stared at this young elf who had just uttered words they could hardly believe. The greenwood elves did not seem surprised. In their eyes Elrond could see agreement and determination.

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other. In their eyes stood the same disbelieve. This elf … he was creepy. They felt the silence like icy water.

"Maybe you could join Elladan and me on the training range this afternoon, Alcanor. I am certain you are more skilled than my idiotic brother is," Elrohir tried to lighten the mood.

"Hey!" Elladan yelled, leaning over to hit Elrohir's head. "You are the idiot, not me, Ro! I could squash you if I wanted to!"

Thranduil stared at the twins and rose an eyebrow towards their father. Elrond sighed and pointedly looked at his sons.

Suddenly, Alcanor's dark, silent laughter cut through the continuing bickering of the twins. "I will join you, even though you will have to wear different outfits if I am supposed to be able to tell the two of you apart. You are worse than Daeros and Arahen!"

Thranduil rolled his eyes ever so slightly as if Alcanor's words had been silly. He elegantly sat down.

"I would rather you train your aim, Alcanor. And do sit down," Thranduil interfered and the Prince silenced.

"I will, Adar. But I am sure I could spare an hour," the prince replied while following his father's order.

"As long as you are still able to read the reports I gave you yesterday. I trust we will start with the negotiations tomorrow and you will have to have them read until then."

Alcanor nodded and bowed his head slightly. But suddenly his eyes shot up towards Elrond and the healer could see anger burning behind the bright orbs.

"Say this again and I will punch you in the face", he threatened darkly.

"Alcanor!" Thranduil's voice boomed loudly and his fist connected with the table. "One does not speak thus to a host, Alcanor!"

"But he said you were an awful father!" Alcanor challenge angrily. The room grew quiet and every elf stared at the two royals screaming at each other.

"He did not say thus, ion-nin. He thought it. And even if he did say it out loud, whether or not I am a good father does not reflect on me being a good king. As Lord of Rivendell that is the only thing he has any right to know about. Therefore, you do not need to threaten him with physical actions," Thranduil spoke more calmly now. _My son._

"The only way he could have drawn the conclusion you'd be a bad father would be through my behaviour as I am your son and my mistakes are the only hints he could possibly use to judge. As I do not recall having behaved incredibly stupid or being incredibly insulting, his assumption of you being a bad father are completely unfounded. They are false!"

"But have you not just proven his point by behaving incredibly stupid because you heard one lie?" Thranduil asked calmly.

Alcanor stared at his father and all colour drained from his face. He jumped to his feet only to fall to his knees before his king.

"Forgive me, Adar, for I have dishonoured your name." His voice was shaking but loud enough to be heard by everyone. _Father_.

"Get up!" Thranduil demanded and Elrond smiled, for he had never heard the elven king this annoyed.

Slowly, the Prince stood and hesitantly took his seat.

"I think I should apologize," Elrond spoke up. "Both to you Thranduil, for I have clearly misjudged your parenting skills and your caring and love towards your son, as to you, Alcanor, for my thoughts seem to have brought you into this situation."

"Do not apologize, Elrond," Thranduil demanded coldly and shoot an angry glance towards his son.

The meals were served and drew everyone's attention away of the little outburst which had just occurred. Elrond was wondering how Alcanor could have been able to hear what he had thought. Judging by how Thranduil had told Alcanor that the words had not been said but thought, Elrond came to the conclusion that Alcanor had not purposely entered his mind but had done it accidently. Apparently without even noticing it. How was that possible? His mind was guarded and yet he had not noticed Alcanor's intrusion. A glance across the table showed him that Glorfindel was deep in thought, obviously concerned by the same subject.

But now he focused on Thranduil who was silently eating.

"Tell me, my friend, how is your family? I must admit I do not know all of your children's names. I do not know how you survive five of them: I have enough trouble with three!"

"I have six children, Lord Elrond, and I am not your friend", the king replied calmly. "Alcanor is the eldest, Eyaenne is my oldest daughter. Then come Daeros and Arahen. They look very much alike each other. Iarith is my other daughter and Falin is my youngest."

Elrond listened intently, careful to memorize the names of Thranduil's children. He seemed to love them deeply for a faraway look had stolen itself into his eyes and was now quickly blinked away. Elrond pretended he had not seen anything.

"I take it Arwen and Celebrian are in Lorien?" Thranduil asked.

"Yes, they are staying there for the summer," Elrond agreed.

Silence grew between them and Elrond was glad to see Alcanor chatting easily with Elrohir and Elladan. He looked back to the elf next to him. He met blue eyes and realised Thranduil must have watched him. For one second the king stared back, then he got up and excused himself. Alcanor slowly stood as well. He bowed politely and took his helmet before following his father together with one of the guards who had jumped up as well.

This was going to be a difficult time, Elrond sighed and leaned back. How should he gain Thranduil's trust? The coldness and the careful suspicion which surrounded the elven king gave him a headache and an idea, how great the problem ahead would be.

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	2. 2: Lost Trust

It was hard. So very hard. Breathing heavily, Elrond walked through the gardens but this time he had no thought for the beauty around him. Thranduil just would not cooperate! No matter what he suggested the elven king always found a reason why to refuse! The most annoying thing however was the fact that Alcanor agreed absolutely with his father. Elrond had hoped the young elf would ease his father's temper. And that he did but not in the way the healer had hoped for. He was so incredibly young and yet still seemed to know everything what was going on in his kingdom. He brought arguments forward which were impossible to refute. More than once, Thranduil had just leant back and gestured for his son to continue the negotiations. The king would eye his boy sharply and here and there he would correct him with a soft voice, otherwise he let him handle himself. Elrond would never even dare trying to drag Elladan and Elrohir in one of his meetings. It would end in a disaster. But here sat this boy who look so much like his father with the same silver white hair and handled himself better than some of Rivendell's chancellors! His eyes sparkled silver as he focused on what was being said. Once he had turned to his father to ask him something and instead of losing his temper, Thranduil had just whispered the answer.

Elrond shook his head. Glorfindel suddenly turned up next to him.

"Glorfindel! How can I help you?"

"Something against a headache would do," the mighty balrog-slayer joked without much enthusiasm. "I am already fearing we will never come to an agreement. Thranduil is too stubborn! He just doesn't care for anything outside his forest!"

"What do you think of Alcanor?"

Glorfindel looked at the healer. "I do not know. He is very controlled and he hides his feelings really well. I am a bit worried for him, I have to admit. I spent so much time with running after the twins because I let them pull one of their stupid pranks on me, that I do not like seeing someone so young being as serious and grown as he is. He appears to be a child of war, yet we are at peace and Greenwood is as well. I am wondering what caused him to become a soldier in his age. Thranduil seems to be very strict about his education."

"Maybe I should suggest he stays behind when Thranduil leaves."

Glorfindel looked surprised. "Why would you?"

"I do not want him to suffer under Thranduil."

"What makes you think he suffers? To me it seemed very much so that Thranduil loves his son deeply and trust him a lot further than I would trust the twins."

"He abuses him."

"Alcanor himself stated that this was false: That his father is a good Adar. He stood up for Thranduil after he heard your thoughts, without hesitation."

"What would have happened if he had not?"

"Nothing. Thranduil does not usually care what people think about him as long as they accept his authority. And that we did."

Before Elrond could answer their attention was drawn to the training fields nearby. The subjects of their thoughts were sparring with each other. Thranduil's swords clashed through the air, wielded elegantly in the fighting style so prominent among the wood elves. Alcanor had his knives drawn in defence. His moves came quickly, but he was no match for his skilled father. Thranduil brutally cut Alcanor down and a cry of pain escaped the young one's mouth as the blunt side of the king's sword connected with Alcanor's unprotected lower arm.

Elrond ran towards the child on the ground while Glorfindel grasped Thranduil and pulled him away. Only seconds later the greenwood guards tore him away of their king, coldness and determination written in their eyes, their hands dangerously close to their weapons.

"Alcanor!" Elrond said worriedly.

"I am fine," the elf answered but took Elrond's helping hand to pull him on his feet and allowed the healer to examine his arm afterwards. It was not broken but it already started to swell.

"I will find you a bandage."

Alcanor looked at him with wide eyes, then he started to laugh loudly.

"You want to give me a bandage because of this little swelling? It will heal within a couple of hours. No need to act like a mother hen."

Elrond stared at him but accepted the young one's decision. Accusingly, he turned to the king.

"Why did you do this? Why did you beat him up?"

"I rather he learns it from me than from an orc. I will not kill him, an orc will. If hurting my son is the price for his survival, I will do it and I will keep doing it."

"You could have easily broken his arm!"

"Do not be silly! I would never have hit him that hard!" Thranduil snarled back and the air seemed to sizzle with his mood.

"Maybe you should leave, Lord Elrond," Alcanor suggested quietly but with a silent plea. He wanted to avoid the confrontation. The healer caringly looked upon the child. He could not go. Not after what he had just seen!

"I cannot allow your father to harm you like he did, Alcanor. I will not leave."

"His arm is a bit swollen: No harm done," Thranduil said threatingly low.

"You will leave," the Prince insisted.

The healer laughed hoarsely: "Are you going to order me on my grounds?"

"If I have to."

"Maybe we should all go," Glorfindel suggested. "King Thranduil, I believe you have not yet seen the library, have you? Let me show it to you. Elladan and Elrohir surely will be delighted to show your son around and I believe Erestor was looking or you, Elrond. Lunch will be served in an hour."

Before Thranduil could say something, Alcanor stepped closer and fell to a knee.

"Please my king! I beg you to postpone our training." Elrond nearly pulled the elf back to his feet, but Glorfindel stopped him.

"I grant you your request."

Alcanor rose but his father had already sheathed his swords and was following Glorfindel. The Prince rose and stared into Elrond's eyes.

"If it was not for Greenwood, I would have taken your insult as a reason to depart at this very moment. My father is not a bad Adar! Things are done differently in Greenwood than in Rivendell. Accept it. You have not seen Greenwood the Great in the last hundred years. It is growing darker. Spiders and orcs are closing in, our patrols get attacked more and more often. Elves die. My father might be a strict and a hard teacher but he teaches me how to survive. I am Crown Prince; I have the responsibility to lead my people. And apparently, one day I will have to lead them into battle. My father prepares me so if this day should ever come, it will not be my last. He teaches me how to survive! A skill which obviously is not necessary in your valley. I understand that and I understand why your sons are so much freer than I am. I do not behold a grudge against you because you can live privileged, even though I do admit that I envy your sons for their freedoms. But maybe you should try to do the same and understand that my father is a good father. I love him. And he loves me back and he hates it to do these things to me but he has to. That is all what should count."

He abruptly turned around and locked at the twins.

"Lead the way!" He smiled, suddenly back to the happy self he usually presented them.

* * *

The entire rest of the day, Elrond could hear the boy's words ringing through his mind. He realised that there was nothing he could do for the young elf stood up for his father. Also, he wasn't even sure anymore if he was right.

He had to force himself to keep his mind on the negotiations. One of the greenwood-soldiers was always present, but he never uttered a single word. Nor was it the same soldier every day. Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, Eranion and three other elves were presenting Rivendell, while Thranduil and Alcanor handled the greenwood matters all on their own.

"What do I need books for? I do not need books about healing, I need healers who can teach my elves. You know that the part of greenwood's population who are Silvan or who are with Silvan roots will not trust words written down in a book, they will not even touch it. Knowledge is past on through spoken words in our culture."

"You are a Sindar," Eranion stated accusingly. "You should be better than them!"

Thranduil leapt to his feet.

"Better? How could I be better? Since when are Silvan elves worse than other elves? Since when does our blood decide whether we are good or not? I married a Silvan woman, my children are half Silvan, half Sindar! Do you want to suggest my wife is worth less than I am because of her blood? That my children are not as worthy as others? I am no better than them and I am proud to be able to say thus, as I respect their heritage, our heritage, for their culture has become my culture as well. I am as much a king for the Silvans living in Greenwood, as for the Sindar!"

His voice was booming through the still air, anger and disgust written clearly in his features.

Alcanor was holding him back and was now speaking quickly to his father. Only slowly the king was calming down.

But Eranion's expression was distorted into a grimace, a grimace of disgust and hatred. His hand wandered into the sleeve of his robe

Suddenly, Eranion leapt forward, a dagger catching the light of the sun and its acuteness aiming for Thranduil's chest. Alcanor saw the danger and reacted without thinking. He stepped between the weapon and his father.

"NO!" Thranduil screamed as the dagger found its mark. But Alcanor was smaller than the tall figure of the king. Instead hitting his chest, the dagger hit his unprotected neck, slicing easily through skin and flesh. Shock was written in the silver orbs as the elf went limp.

Elrond jumped forward, catching the falling figure and already leaning over the boy, who was spitting and coughing dark, crimson blood. His hands were desperately clutched around the deep cut in his neck, his eyes wide with fear.

Eranion was pulling the dagger back in shock, but suddenly determination entered his eyes and he rose his hand to bring the dagger down once more.

"NO!" The king screamed again, with so much panic in his voice that Elrond had nearly turned around. Thranduil grasped Eranion. Forgotten were the two swords attached to his hip, forgotten were the daggers hidden in his armour. He was acting on pure instinct and he had to protect his son! His fist connected with Eranion's face. Once, twice, thrice. Glorfindel kicked the dagger out of Eranion's hand and the wood elf guard brought the attacker down, terror written in his eyes. He brutally forced the council member on the floor.

As soon as Thranduil saw that Glorfindel and his guard could take care of the attacker, his full attention was drawn towards his son. He saw Elrond leaning over the body of his oldest. He saw the blood surfacing between Elrond's fingers which were desperately pressed on the wound. He saw how the healer closed his eyes.

"Get off him!" He yelled and pulled Elrond back.

"Thranduil, no! Let me help him!" The healer already yelled while falling backwards. Alcanor would not survive without his help. Alcanor needed his help, for he was the only one with healing powers strong enough to save him now.

The king skidded to his knees next to Alcanor. His hands came down on the wound and before Elrond could reach him, he was suddenly thrown back. A bright light was pressing heavily on his chest and stopped him of breathing. The bright light surrounded Thranduil and the elves present realised it was the elf's aura, as visible as never before. Pain crossed the fair features as the king somehow took his aura and pressed it into his son. Elrond gasped. Never had he seen anything like it. Thranduil was sustaining his son's life with his own energy. It was not in the way Elrond used his aura to heal his patients. The elven king must be extremely powerful to be able to do what he did. It would have failed had he done it with anyone else but his own children but now Alcanor's form was sucking the energy in like a sponge would water.

The doors opened and the wood elves stormed in, clad in their heavy armour; their weapons in their hand. Shocked expressions entered their faces as soon as they spotted their hurting prince and how their king was fighting for his live. Their shock changed into anger and they made use of their weapons. Quickly Glorfindel uttered an order to stay calm and luckily all the council member's obeyed. Elrond could barely feel the cold metal of a sword pressing against his bare neck. He was too focussed on the two elves in front of him. He subconsciously rose his arms to show his defeat but his attention did not shift.

Thranduil's shoulders slumped down in exhaustion but he kept on pressing his energy in the limp form before him. Terror was in his eyes as he looked down into the silver counterparts of Alcanor. Slowly, life seemed to return into them. Tiredness mirrored in the bright orbs but the pain vanished more and more.

"It is enough, Ada!" Alcanor whispered with a thin smile. Thranduil finally stopped. His body fell forward and only in the last moment he could catch his weight with his hands. Silver blond hair fell down over his shoulders and played around Alcanor's face from above. Alcanor smiled, then he closed his eyes and let exhaustion take his consciousness away. But his heart kept beating and the blood stayed in his veins. His chest rose and fell slowly.

Tiredly, Thranduil rose his head. Once his eyes found Elrond, anger blazed up in his eyes.

"Was that your plan, Lord Elrond?" He spat out vigorously. "To lull us in security so you could finish us off?"

"Thranduil, I assure you I had –"

"Oh, shut up! We both know you are lying! Give me one good reason to not go to war, Elrond!"

"Because lives would be lost. Innocent lives!"

"MY SON IS INNOCENT! He is a child and your assassin nearly stabbed him to death!" Thranduil yelled, swaying on his feet. A guard hurried by his side but Thranduil waved him away.

"Thranduil, I swear on the lives of my family I had nothing to do with this! I had never planned to harm either you, your son, your people or your realm! Please you must believe me!"

Elrond's words did not manage to calm Thranduil down but at least he did not order the wood elves to attack.

Instead he picked up the lifeless form of his son. He swayed again as he stood but found his footing quickly. However, his tiredness was written clearly in his eyes but it did not hide his determination, anger and will.

"Prepare the horses! We will leave in ten minutes," he ordered one of his soldiers quietly. He ignored the Noldor elves than he turned around and carried his son outside. The greenwood soldiers followed him carefully, their eyes never leaving their new found enemies.

Elrond suddenly felt incredibly tired. He stumbled backwards and fell on his chair. All his hopes to come to a better understanding and to improve the relationships between Rivendell and Greenwood had been crashed within a few minutes. He found himself staring down at his hands. His hands, which were covered in red-silvery blood of the young elfling. He felt dirty. He should not have the blood of someone so innocent and young sticking to his skin. Anger rose in him; an anger he had not felt since the Great War had ended. His head rose and his eyes fell on the figure lying on the floor, currently being supervised by Glorfindel who was shaking in disbelieve as he stared down at Eranion, the elf who had betrayed everything Elrond and Rivendell stood for: Freedom, safety and brotherly love.

"Get him out of my sight", Elrond ordered, knowing that at the moment he was unable to make any decision concerning the perfidious elf. He noticed that a small part of him kept wondering why Thranduil had not ordered his soldiers to kill the man who had harmed his eldest. Or to why Thranduil had not taken the elf with him to throw him in one of his dungeons.

"I was right to do it!" Eranion spat. Elrond looked down at him and enquiringly rose an eyebrow.

"I did what you should have done! Those greenwood elves – they are wild beasts! Savages! They do not know about art and poetry, about proper behaviour and elegance. All they care about is killing things! No Noldor should have to be around such beasts! They are beneath us!"

The normally peaceful healer could not take more than that. His lashed out and the ring Valya on his hand marred the face of the elf before him. Eranion's blue eyes widened in shock and pain.

"You disgust me, Eranion!" Elrond hissed and waved for Glorfindel to take care of the traitor. He himself finally caught his senses and hurried after Thranduil, his elegant robes once more proving how unpractical they were.

He ran out in the courtyard only to find arrows pointed on his chest. All of the greenwood warriors had already gathered. Indeed, they were already mounting their horses. Elrond's wise eyes found Thranduil who was sitting tiredly upon his noble steed, a proud animal with fur as black as a starless night. Alcanor's limp body was in his arms, leaning heavily against his chest. Worriedly the healer noticed that the boy's eyes were tightly shut in exhaustion and the king did not seem well either.

"Thranduil!"

The king's head whipped around and his crystal blue eyes were cold.

"What more harm do you want, Elrond, half-elf!"

"Please! I swear I had nothing to do with Eranion's attack. Stay for the night and find some rest. Let me tend to your son. Let us speak tomorrow when we are rested!"

"So you can murder me in my sleep? You are lucky I have not yet declared war! Do not press this luck!" And with that, the elven king ordered his company to leave and the horses galloped over the bridge and left Rivendell and the hidden valley.

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	3. 3: I am Alcanor

After the awful incident, Elrond tried his best to re-establish relationships with Greenwood. But his letters were ignored and when he sent representatives, they ended up to stay in Thranduil's dungeon for a month before being provided with provisions and sent back to Rivendell with a very short letter from the king noting that any further intrusion of Noldor elves into Greenwood territory would lead to a declaration of war.

He would regularly send another letter, telling Thranduil about the situation in Rivendell and the Golden Wood, offering help and expressing his hopes for a future meeting. If his letter were even received or read, he did not know. The years passed without knowledge from Greenwood. Sometimes, Elrond wondered why he bothered. But Alcanor's bleeding form entered his dreams whenever he attempted to give up. Elrond felt responsible for what had happened and felt terrible for it. All he had wanted was trying to get to an understanding with the Greenwood elves. He was healer and it was in his very nature to offer help and assistance. He would not turn back simply because he was ignored, but he would keep being available if Thranduil ever sought peace. The elf lord could be just as stubborn as the Greenwood king and he refused to simply give up.

Whispers started to rise, whispers of a growing darkness. Men told stories about the wood elves fighting off horrible creatures, stories of giant spiders being spotted in the wood which was now unprotected for the woodelves had drawn back their borders. Villages of men close to the darkening wood were burned down, the inhabitants slaughtered. Even though Thranduil had never cared what happened beyond his borders, through defending his territory he did ensure the safety of nearby villages as the orcs were killed off by elven warriors before getting the chance to loot and kill men.

This fact worried Elrond deeply. Elves were dying. No matter what, they were still of the same race and Elrond could impossibly stand by the side-line and watch them suffer. Glorfindel began leading long term patrols east of the Misty Mountains. Carefully avoiding Greenwood itself, he and his elves hunted orcs.

Elladan and Elrohir begged their father for years to let them join one of these patrols, but the wise half-elf refused, saying they there not prepared enough yet, not grown up enough. The twins lost some of their light-heartedness and they always listened closely for news of Greenwood. Even though they had not spent much time with Prince Alcanor, they had liked the older elf. After the attack on the greenwood Prince they had been withdrawn and they had intensified their fighting lessons.

"Elladan, Elrohir," Elrond called out to them as they were sparring on the training field. Surprised, for their father never dared to interrupt them, the twins lowered their weapons and looked at him.

"Your last patrols have been very successful," Elrond began. The identical elves looked at each other and rose an eyebrow in a perfect impression of their father. Why was Elrond telling them things they already knew? They had not done anything wrong, had they? They had come back unharmed, not even scratches.

"Yes, Ada," they replied and their curiosity was shown in their sparkling eyes.

"I have talked with Glorfindel. He thinks the two of you might be ready for a long term patrol." The twins stared at each other, then they returned their focus back to their father.

"What do you think, Ada? Will you let us go?" Elladan asked carefully, expecting a negative answer.

Elrond sighed. "I trust Glorfindel's judgement. If he says you are ready, you are. I will let you go, but you have to promise me, to obey him, no matter how much you want to disobey. Is that clear?"

The twins nodded hastily.

"I do not want anyone to get killed, you are to respect the other soldiers and do as you are told. If they say hide, you hide! Do not venture on your own, keep an eye on each other. You will have a week to get ready. Please ask Glorfindel for help if you are not sure what to take, you will have to move quickly and therefore pack light. He has crossed the mountains many times and knows better than any other what you will need. The patrol will leave with first light and will consist next to you of thirty other elves. Glorfindel will lead the patrol, obviously, with the two of you as seconds in command."

"We will," Elrohir promised.

"Yes, we will. Thank you Ada!" Elladan added and hugged his father. "We will be careful, I promise. And if that thick-headed excuse of an elf who happens to be my twin forgets it, I will remind him." He skilfully dodged the slap his brother attempted to give him.

One week later the twins stood in the courtyard next to Glorfindel, both dressed in their heavy armour. Glorfindel seemed like an angelic warrior who had just stepped out of one of the history books Elrond stored in his library. His long blond hair was floating in the wind and softly entangling itself with the silver engravements in his chest plate. He stood proudly and patiently waiting for Elrond to allow them to go. The half elf went to his sons and hugged them tightly.

"Be careful", he said and then nodded towards the ancient elven lord.

"Let's go!" Glorfindel announced and waited for the twins to join him.

Elladan and Elrohir found their roles in the patrol quickly, learning from their comrades. They had known many of them already and they got along with all of them. Glorfindel taught them how to lead the group and kept them busy with scouting.

They crossed the pass without any major problems. They did encounter orcs but the pack was small and they killed them off easily before continuing their path. As soon as they reached the eastern side of the mountains, they began searching for orcs while closing in on the darkening borders of Greenwood the Great.

"Glorfindel!" Herion came running towards them. His hair was loose and his braid was unable to hold it back which caused it to stick to his sweaty forehead. The Noldor had been scouting and no one had expected him to be back already. He ran as if he was pursued by a giant pack of orcs.

"Yrch!" he breathed heavenly. Apparently, he _was_ pursued by a pack of orcs.

"How many?" Glorfindel asked alarmed, for Herion would not have come running unless the orcs were following him already.

"Two hundred … at least! They were hiding among the trees of a small forest. I thought it was still under the control of the wood elves but they must have abandoned it. I am sorry, I shouldn't have closed in! I thought the elves might be in trouble but if they'd stayed, they are all dead now."

"Two hundred?" Glorfindel breathed surprised and shocked. "We cannot handle two hundred. Pack up, everyone! How far are they, Herion?"

"An hour? At most!"

"Okay, guys, hurry up! Get your things, I wonna go and I wonna go now! Is everyone awake? Yes, all right, let's go. We head east!"

Elladan and Elrohir run over to Glorfindel and stayed by his side while running east. It was dark, so dark that even their elven sight seemed to fail them. Tiredness was clinging on their feet like heavy stones making each step a challenge on its own.

The orcs slowly caught up with them and even though the twins had been in fights before, they had never been as afraid as they were now. They were far away from Rivendell and no help would arrive. Glorfindel suddenly froze in his steps and Elladan bumped into him. Elrohir subconsciously reached out to steady his twin.

"Yrch!" Glorfindel whispered and even in the dark they could see that the mighty balrog slayer had paled. The patrol had been so busy running away from one massive pack of orcs they had not noticed they were heading towards another pack of these foul beasts.

Glorfindel turned to the twins.

"I am sorry, Elladan, Elrohir! I should not have allowed you to come. I am sorry!" With these words he pulled his sword out and yelled orders. Within minutes the patrol had formed a circle, their faces set in stone and only their eyes which blinked in the dark showed their fear.

The air was filled with the sound of hundreds of feet, heavy boots thumping down on the hard ground.

Screeches sounded in the dark and bodies moved towards them. Heavy swords clashed forwards and the elves found themselves in a deadly quarrel. Elrohir pulled Elladan closer while he ducked underneath a blade, slashing his own sword and beheading the massive orc in front of him. He felt how Glorfindel was pushing a dead body into the crowd next to him, giving him the chance to smash his sword in another orc who got distracted. Elladan freed himself of his brother's protective embrace and flung himself skilfully into battle. Blood, dark and crimson, cold mud, bits of grass, flesh, swords, blades, screams filled the air and hurt in the ears of the beautiful people.

Glorfindel screamed with anger as he saw Herion fall under the mace of a giant orc. Elladan killed the orc and kneeled down next to the limb body, trusting his twin to protect him.

"Get him back!" Glorfindel ordered harshly and Elrohir threw him a scared look before pulling Elladan to his feet while fighting with his free arm. Elladan turned around to face the battle once more. All colour drained from his face as he realised that Herion was not the only one who had fallen. Only twelve of them there still on were feet. Two dark forms were kneeling between them; Elladan could hear someone coughing and he did not need any light to realise that he was coughing dark blood.

The twins joined the remaining patrol in the circle. They were not afraid anymore. They were not angry or determined. They could not feel the aching of their muscles or the pain in their hearts. The mud wasn't cold and slippery against their skin anymore. All warmth had escaped their bodies. They felt like empty shells and all they could do was to continue fighting.

Feriell fell and the circle shrunk to only seven elves. Elladan dragged the two wounded back, knowing he was fighting a lost battle for their lives. His hand sought and found the free hand of his twin and their fingers enlaced. Neither was able to tear their eyes off of their enemies. In the next moment, Elladan screamed and fell to his knees, a sword having sliced his right arm.

Darkness closed in and took all what was left of the elven light. Tears streamed down Elrohir's face and he closed his eyes expecting the deadly stroke to come.

But it did not come. Several seconds passed before his brain understood what he heard. The _whishh_ of arrows flying through clear night air and the distinctive song of bow strings which were being released. The beautiful music of sharp blades moving swiftly through air before meeting and slicing through flesh and bones with a horrible sound.

He carefully cracked an eye open and he was not met with the sight of awful orcs but slim, tall figures moving through the dark; the blades in their hands catching the fade moonlight which had suddenly broken through the thick blanket of the clouds above. He felt his knees buckling and he fell down next to his brother's form, his hand still clutching onto Elladan.

Within minutes the orcs were slaughtered. The twins found themselves next to Glorfindel who had not lowered his weapon and was eying the new elves with care.

One elf with silvery white hair scathed his sword after yelling some orders. He turned and Glorfindel was met with two bright silver orbs. The elf was clad in a brownish leather armour which did not restrict him in his movements. The armour did not hide his well musculared arms and his broad chest. His clothing and the very way he had fought and the way he was now standing opposite Glorfindel showed the balrog slayer that this man was one of the wood elves of Greenwood. He did not need to see the greenish or brown colour of all of his clothing which was disguised by the dark.

The other greenwood soldiers silently assembled around their leader who did not move an inch but was eying Glorfindel with patient. He waited in silent. A sound of pain escaped Elladan's lips as Elrohir carefully took his injured arm. With the sound, Glorfindel attention shifted slightly. He slowly lowered his weapon.

"Would you accept our assistance?" The foreign elf leader asked with an ironical smile tugging on his lips. The balrog slayer could only nod. The greenwood elf gestured for his soldiers to step forward and provide help and the elves came closer and kneeled next to the injured. Their faces did not show what they were thinking. Even if they had, the darkness of the night would successfully have hidden it.

"What are Noldor doing this close to Greenwood, Lord Glorfindel?" The leader of the wood elves asked gently while his soldiers took care of securing the area and the disposal of the bodies as well as the well-being of the survivors.

"We were on our way to the Golden Wood when we got attacked by orcs. I had not realised they have driven us so far east," Glorfindel lied.

The other elf's eyes narrowed.

"Do not lie to me, Glorfindel! We have known the Noldor have been patrolling this area for the last two decades. Do you think we are unable to handle the problems within our kingdom? Noldor are not welcomed here. You should never have come. The only reason why we have not yet interfered was that you did not get in our way." He stared down at Glorfindel and hereby proved a very strong will, for not many could stare into the mighty balrog slayer's eyes.

"We will help your patrol and care for your wounded. You will enter the wood with us. And as soon as you are fit for travel you will leave Greenwood and you will not come back patrolling our borders. Any further disturbances will be treated as a threat."

"Who do you think are you, elfling?" Glorfindel lost his wits. He was here because he was bloody trying to help these thick headed wood elves! He was risking his damn life to defend their territory and all he got was defiance? This elf was barely older than the twins for crying out loud! The bodies of the elves who had died to help this darkening forest were laying on the ground around them, covered in blackish orc blood!

The elf, who had been about to turn away, slowly rose his eyes to meet Glorfindel's. An angry fire was burning in them and his elvish glow intensified with his anger.

"I am Alcanor Thranduillion, Crown Prince of Greenwood. You might remember me. I have learned to never trust Noldor!" He spat the last word as if it was an insult. "You nearly killed me for no reason. It is impossible to forget scars which are so visible, don't you think, oath-breaker? You can consider yourselves lucky that we value a life high enough to step in when it is endangered even if it is the life of someone who is our enemy too. I will not allow Noldor to enter Greenwood unless it is necessary. All bonds of friendship were broken with your disloyalty!"

Now Glorfindel was able to see the jarred scar across his neck and he knew that in this case he had uttered the worst possible words. But before he could say something Alcanor's name was called and the elf swiftly turned away. Glorfindel felt a sting in his heart as he saw how the Prince hurried and kneeled into the mud next to one of the wounded and pressed his hands onto the bloody wound in the elf's stomach. He heard the prince calling for someone to bring one of the torches the wood elves had lit so he'd be able to see the injury more clearly.

Glorfindel quickly realised that his people were all cared for, so he turned and went to the twins. A she-elf was kneeling in front of Elladan, her dark, curly hair held back with a leather strap. Her body was strained as if she expected an attack at any moment. Carefully, she held Elladan's hand, her eyes wandering to Elrohir's weapons every few seconds. She rose her eyes to see who was coming and Glorfindel recognised the bright silver colour. Her eyes and Alcanor's eyes seemed to be the same. This must be Eyaenne, Thranduil's oldest daughter and second child. She was a beauty. The skin tight body armour revealed her muscular and yet feminine frame. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow in the dark and her elegant eyebrows only intensified the natural shine of her silver eyes.

It took two hours to stabilize the wounded. Glorfindel helped as much as he could but the battle had exhausted him as well and soon he found himself laying on top of several blankets next to the twins and some wounded who had been tended to already. His eyelids almost shut in a tight sleep he remained unaware how the wood elves relentlessly worked. They burned the carcasses of the orcs and buried the bodies of the elves. Of the thirty-three elves who set out, eighteen were dead. No one was uninjured and it was only due to the wood elves' hard work that the six heavily wounded elves who had lain among the dead were still alive.

The wood elves carefully lifted the sleeping and the wounded onto stretchers and made their way to the close trees of the Great Forest.

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	4. 4: Greenwood the Great

Elrohir woke up to a soft voice singing beautiful ballads. Sluggishly, he opened his eyes.

"Ei Valar!" He murmured. "Are this Mandos' halls? Never have I seen an elleth as beautiful in Middle-earth!" _She-elf._

The singing stopped and the she-elf sat up straighter, her silver orbs shining calmly.

"You are not in Mandos' halls. These are the wise trees of Greenwood the Great, one of the most ancient forests in all Middle-earth," she replied with an air of pride accompanying her voice.

"What happened?"

"We saved you after you got attacked by orcs. You were without consciousness for two days, even though your wound was not poisoned. Unfortunately, not all of your group are that lucky."

"My brother -!" Elrohir panicked, starting to get up.

"- will be fine!" The elleth finished his sentence and pressed him back down onto the blankets. "He got a deep slash on his arm but we have cleaned, stitched and bandaged it and his body is already fighting the poison. My brother is talented healer; he mixed all the necessary herbs. Do not fret, for he will live."

Somewhat relaxed Elrohir followed the pressure of her hand on his chest and lied back down.

"Thank you!"

For a moment all he did was to stare into the sky, which was almost completely hidden behind rustling big leaves. Suddenly, he realised he was not laying on the ground but on a wooden platform high in the trees. His stomach told him that he was not too fond of this fact. He quickly tried to lead his thoughts elsewhere.

"I am Elrohir," he introduced himself somewhat weakly.

"I know," the female warrior answered without looking up. He followed her gaze and understood she was fletching her arrows. A pile of silver arrowheads lay next to a pile of feathers and the wooden shafts.

"Nice arrows," he attempted to compliment her.

"I do not care about whether my arrows are nice, half-elf. They have to be deadly, for that is their purpose." She seemed to be completely uninterested in him for her voice was calm and soft.

"Well, they are nice as well" Elrohir pondered. When she did not react, he slowly rose to his elbows. This time her eyes wandered to him, her gaze sharp and awake. Slowly, she took her utilises and moved further away.

"The healer will be here soon to have a look on your wound," the wood elf suddenly said.

"Ugh, thank you. And thank you for saving us as well."

Before she could answer, another wood elf suddenly leapt onto the platform. He smiled softly and kneeled down.

"Princess Eyaenne," he said before raising. "Your brother, Crown Prince Alcanor, wishes to speak with you. Lord Elrohir, it is good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

Elrohir caught himself before he could stare at Princess Eyaenne too much and replied:

"Fine. A bit dizzy but fine. How is my brother? I need to see him!"

"He is just behind you," Eyaenne noted with an amused ring in her voice while she got back on her feet, collected her arrows and then left the platform. She leaned closer to the new elf and whispered something in his ear.

Elrohir had turned immediately and indeed, Elladan was laying not too far away on blankets, his weapons, armour and outer clothes carefully piled up next to him. Just now Elrohir noticed that he as well was only clad in a soft shirt and long trousers.

Fresh crème had been spread over Elladan's wound and the younger twin figured that the reason why the Princess had been here in the first place was because she had been looking over them. And she had not been alone Elrohir realised as a tall wood elf with long straight hair of a bright nut brown colour nodded towards him. The elf was standing close to the edge and he seemed casual even though the bow around his shoulder and the quiver filled with long arrows on his back said otherwise.

Tiredly, Elrohir crawled over to his brother. He was not as skilled in the arts of healing as his twin and yet he knew from a quick glance that the greenwood healers apparently had known what they were doing, for he remembered seeing very similar treatments practised by his father. Content to be alive and to know his brother was safe he took his twins hand turned to lie on his side and quickly fell asleep.

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Eyaenne sprang over the branches with ease, heading towards the commanding flat. Her senses were awake and she laughed softly about the trees who were whispering light songs into the fresh air. She had been anxious for the last couple of hours: She did not like sitting next to the wounded Noldor. Whenever she looked at them all she could think about was how they had tried to kill her brother. The memories of how her father had come home with Alcanor slumped in his arms and himself staggering of tiredness still burned in her mind. It had been so close, so scaringly close.

Alcanor had told her everything about his visit at Rivendell after he had had years of recovering. He had told her about how he had been enjoying the time he had spent with the twins and how he had marvelled the beauty of Rivendell's gardens. But nearly getting stabbed to death had made him distrustful of anything what had happened before the attack. The Princess knew all too well that her brother was somewhat … confused. He did not exactly know how to handle the Noldor. Especially the twins for he did not know whether he should think they had been part of the deceive and had known about the planned attack on him and King Thranduil or not.

Eyaenne jumped onto the platform without making so much sound as a soft _thump_. Alcanor turned around to her and smiled shortly.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I need you to take command here. The scout has spotted a spider nest nearby and I want to clear the area before the Noldor get fit enough to cause more trouble."

"I will. How many elves do you need?"

"I do not want to leave you with the Noldor outnumbering you. Therefore, I will take thirty of our soldiers. Will the remaining twenty elves suffice or do you want me to get some backup?"

"Eight of the Noldor are too heavily wounded to do anything but sleep. I doubt the other seven will be much of a trouble. I will keep a close eye on them."

"Do not underestimate them, Eyae! I do not want to see you hurt. Be ever watchful, for they will try to lull you in security before they will thrive their dagger in your back."

Alcanor pulled his little sister into a tight embrace and the Princess could feel him shaking. He truly was scared even though he hid it successfully towards anyone but her. He softly kissed her temple, before pulling back. He placed his hands on her cheeks and looked into her silver eyes which mirrored his own perfectly.

"Please be careful! I would never be able to forgive myself if these Noldor harmed you," he whispered before he turned away. The next moment he was quietly giving orders while simultaneously fastening the leather straps of his body armour.

Soon after, Crown Prince Alcanor left the post with thirty soldiers. They leapt into the trees and the ancient entities protected them from sight. Meanwhile Eyaenne made sure she got all the information she needed. Scouts were send out with the order to report back to her instead of her brother and she asked for all the information she could get about the condition of the Noldor. So far, Lord Elrohir and one other elf were the only ones to have woken up which was no surprise for the Noldor had been completely and utterly exhausted.

Roewen came running towards her several hours later. Eyaenne tore her gaze from the maps in front of her and faced the older elf.

"Lord Glorfindel is waking up, Princess!" she told her quickly. Eyaenne cursed. An action which earned her a reproachful look from the wood elf. Eyaenne groaned. She wasn't even allowed to curse, for crying out loud! _As a Princess you are representing Greenwood the Great. Which means: No cursing, iell-nin, no matter how much you want to,_ she heard her father's slightly amused voice ringing in her head. She growled again.

The next moment, her thoughts were back on the ancient elven lord. She felt how her chest constricted and her breathing became a bit laboured. She was not up for this! Alcanor was meant to be back when Glorfindel woke up! She couldn't do this! Not alone anyway. What if she made a complete fool of herself? What if she could not show Glorfindel that he had no power in this Wood?

She pulled herself together. She was a Princess, for fucks sake! The daughter of the mighty elven king Thranduil! She was not afraid. She took another deep breath before she turned her attention back to Roewen who was looking at her with concern. The two she-elves had been friends for many years. However, Eyaenne still had not gotten Roewen to drop that blasted title of hers unless they were alone. She suspected Roewen was doing it on purpose to annoy her.

"Bring me to him. Erandil, Saniell, come with me!" she ordered the two elves who had been standing around the map with her.

They followed Roewen through the trees until they arrived at the platform on which Glorfindel was occupying. It was not far and they reached it within a minute.

The elven lord apparently had just woken up for he was just jumping on his feet and shouting then Eyaenne arrived.

"Lord Glorfindel," she greeted with what she hoped was irony in her voice. "What has happened that you have to yell and scream like a child disturbing the peace of these woods?"

The elven lord's face turned red with her words and Eyaenne smiled to herself, proud of her choice of words and how they hid her fear.

"I demand to speak with Alcanor!" Glorfindel bellowed.

Eyaenne rose her hand to silence him.

"You are in no position to _demand_ anything, Lord. And my brother, _Crown Prince_ Alcanor," – she stressed his title – "has better things to do right now than to babysit you. Unfortunately, that has become my job, so, how can I help you?" she stated calmly.

Lord Glorfindel trembled with anger, but his voice was icy cold than he spoke.

"Where are my soldiers! What have you done to them?"

Eyaenne rolled her eyes about such a stupid question.

"Chopped them up for dinner," Eyaenne scowled annoyed with heavy sarcasm. "Believe it or not, we did not save your lives only to harm you afterwards. They are fine and are resting on other platforms like this one."

"Forgive me," the elf lord forced himself to say. "I should not have made false accusations. I was worried than I saw no one else."

There was a silence in which the two parties just stared at each other.

"It is an honour to finally meet you, Princess Eyaenne. Could you please tell me, how are my soldiers?" Glorfindel prompted after the silence stretched.

"Six of your elves are still in danger: We do not know if they will live. Our healer's do all they can. Lord Elrohir and one other elf have woken up but they fell back asleep. I expect the others to wake up soon, however we had given them some sleeping drugs before allowing them to sleep so they could do so without dreams. It will depend on their individual condition when they wake up."

"May I see them?" Glorfindel asked carefully.

"To change what?" Eyaenne inquired harshly, but directly after the words left her mouth she closed her eyes to take a deep breath. She had taken it over the line and she knew it. Of course the elven lord wanted to see the wounded. He had every right to ask for this and she would not have done differently if their places had been reversed. For one second, she realised that Glorfindel did not interrupt her thoughts with an angry reply and then she opened her eyes to see that the ancient elf was calmly looking at her.

"I am sorry; this was inappropriate," she said almost gently. "Of course you may see them but I must request you leave your weapons here."

"You are still young, Thranduiliell," Glorfindel said softly. "May I require why it is necessary to leave my weapons?"

"The platform with the wounded only serves place for three more people next to the assigned healer. I do not trust you, Lord Glorfindel. You are a Noldor and the Noldor tried to kill my father and injured my brother severely. I have no guarantee you will not try to kill me as soon as you have the opportunity. I would rather you do not stand in my back with weapons to your hands," she explained and cocked her head to the side while she did so.

"Fair enough."

Glorfindel knew all too well how much the wood elves distrusted foreigners. Especially since the _incident_. Sadly enough, their distrust had proven to be righteous. He knew if he did not want to cause a war he had to be extremely careful, for one wrong word could get him and his soldiers killed. He looked upon Eyaenne, the woodland princess. All clad in brown leather armour and in practical robust clothes of dark greenish colours. A small twig was entwined in her dark curls just above her pointy ear. She bore her weapons with pride and her hard yet beautiful face betrayed that she had seen many horrors of the world and yet her silver eyes also betrayed her sense for humour.

"Eat before I take you to your wounded," she ordered him. "Roewen, bring him to me as soon as he has finished."

With that the Princess turned and jumped onto lower branches with the grace only a wood elf could possibly master.

Eyaenne showed Glorfindel to the wounded and the elf could see that the Noldor were indeed well cared for. He asked for the twins for these two were the only ones who were absent. Elrohir was awake when they arrived on the other platform.

"Glorfindel!" He yelled, carefully lifting Elladan's head out of his lap before jumping to his feet.

"Elrohir! Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes I am. And Elladan is getting better, too. His fever has broken a couple of hours ago."

Elrohir was unable to keep his eyes fixed on his mentor but instead marvelled Eyaenne's beauty.

"Thank you, for saving us, Princess!" He seized the opportunity to speak to her.

"You have said so before," the elleth replied sarcastically. Glorfindel had to stop himself to not yell at her. If she had been a Noldor, he would not have hesitated to do so. He felt the tiring pull he always felt then dealing with Thranduil and – apparently – his precious children. They had the tendency to be annoyingly sarcastic and ironic and they understood it perfectly to irritate him without being overly undiplomatic. Maybe the degree of irritation they caused him was so high only because these weapons usually were his own, but he did not even try to use them against the wood elves who had perfected this skill.

The distrust lay in the air like a thickening liquid and seemed to take him his breath. The silence which spread was uncomfortable.

Eyaenne who had been shifting uncomfortably under Elrohir's stare, opened her mouth to say something. She never got the chance to.

An elf suddenly appeared on a near branch. He held onto it with on hand, his bow tightly clutched in the other while he leant forward as far as possible to whisper something in Eyaenne's direction. He used the old tongue of the wood elves which made it impossible for Glorfindel to understand. However, he saw how Eyaenne suddenly straightened and how her body went rigid, a spark of alarm entering her silver eyes. With a movement so quick Glorfindel nearly missed it she took her bow from her back, arrow notched.

She calmly asked for more information which she seemed to get, for her next words were sharp orders, before she jumped off the platform. The other elf raised his hand to his mouth and the chirping of a bird rung through the forest in a distinctive song. In the next moment, the trees suddenly groaned silently as they shifted their branches. Glorfindel nearly fell forward, stumbling to find his footing on the platform which had moved underneath him. A second later all movement had stilled but the air in the forest seemed different, seemed darker. Even though Glorfindel was not a wood elf he felt the anger of the trees surrounding them.

"Get your weapons, Elrohir! I think we are being attacked!" He ordered sharply, already trying to get back to the platform where he knew his own armour and weapons.

"What about Elladan?" Elrohir asked worriedly glancing down at his twin.

"The trees won't let anyone come close to him, I am sure of it. And the wood elves would not leave this position unprotected," Glorfindel reasoned.

Elrohir sped up to put his armour on and to get his weapons. His mentor had left, so he carefully made his way down to the ground. For one moment he stood still, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He was searching for a sound which told him where to go. And he found it. Distinct and far away, an odd screeching sound ringing through the rustling of the trees.

He gripped his weapon tighter and run in the forest. It only took him minutes to find the source of the sound. He stopped instantly for nothing could have prepared him to see the giant body of spider. A massive spider, bigger than himself, bigger than a troll! He stood there frozen and could not convince his body to move. He did not really see how arrows flew on the animal, piercing its eyes. The pain only made it angrier and the screeching got louder and louder. It stormed into Elrohir's direction, somehow able to sense him. Only seconds before his body was sliced with the sharp weapons on the legs of the spider, something dropped to the forest floor behind it. Someone. Eyaenne, her curls flying through the air and her daggers only a fade glow in the air, barely visible. She fought vigilantly and skilfully. Everyone who watched her would see her father in the way she moved, in the way she ducked to avoid injury, the way she jumped to the side and stepped backwards, the way she suddenly threw herself forward to imbed her daggers in the vulnerable belly of the giant beast, before getting out of its reach once more. Minutes passed and Eyaenne's breath was soon the only thing heard under the trees.

"Elrohir!" She yelled, not able to hide her concern. She even forgot his title and her eyes shone bright. She stopped before him, positioning her hand carefully on his shoulder, both of her daggers in her other hand. Elrohir looked in her silver eyes and suddenly felt how his heart began beating again, hard and painfully, against his ribcage.

Without thinking he leant forward and his lips met hers, soft and warm. She tasted like dark honey or like sunrays on grass.

He slowly pulled back. Her eyes sought his.

"Why?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper. Tears fell from her eyes and Elrohir did not understand the pain which was written so clearly in her features. She lifted her hands and pressed them against her chest. Suddenly, something red appeared between her fingers and blood ran over her skin. Her body went limp and she fell down, a deep wound in her torso. Blood coloured her clothes dark and built a pool underneath her body. She started coughing as the liquid entered her lungs and took away her breath. With shock Elrohir saw the smaller spider. The spider which had torn a hole in Eyaenne's chest and was now clicking with its fangs.

"Why …," Eyaenne asked again, looking at the Noldor accusingly, before her vision blurred in red and then faded into darkness.

* * *

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	5. 5: Prisoners of a Prince

Glorfindel stood with those of his soldiers who had been fit enough to join him in the fight against those giant spiders. Even now the elven lord felt the slight tingle of fear he had felt upon seeing those beasts for the first time. He was an experienced warrior and he had always been proud to say that he did not hesitate to do what must be done. But never before in his life had he seen spiders like that! Entirely unfamiliar with the way how to fight against creatures like that, he would have died had it not been for some wood elves dropping out of the tree. He marvelled the bravery of those idiotic, thick headed wood elves! And their skill.

His clothes were covered in dark, greenish blood and mud and his hair looked no different. After he had overcome his shock he had adapted quickly to the foreign way to fight and he had killed several of those creatures. He was uninjured as well as the rest of his soldiers. Thanks to the wood elves who did not allow thus to happen.

The battle had ended hours ago yet Elrohir was still missing. Glorfindel began to worry.

The next moment he heard sounds. Someone was speeding through the trees and made no attempt to silence his movement.

In a flash of silvery hair and brownish and greenish clothes Alcanor appeared. Leaves stuck to his armour and a bit of dirt had found its place too. Glorfindel turned to him to tell the Crown Prince of his worry for Elrohir but stopped as soon as he saw the elf. Alcanor was livid. His eyes burned with hatred and he clenched and unclenched his fists as if he had a hard time controlling his temper.

"You!" He breathed heavily, barely able to pronounce this word for the anger vibrated in his voice. "Will die – for what you have done!"

"What happened?" Glorfindel asked carefully. The Crown Prince would not make them responsible for the spider attack, would he? The elf lord saw that the prince's hands were covered in blood and his sleeves were soaked in the dark reddish liquid.

"Don't pretend you don't know what happened!" The elf said sharply and icy cold.

"That was your purpose all along, wasn't it? To enter Greenwood and to kill whoever of my family you could find! After your attempt to murder my father or me had failed!" Tears streamed now over his fair features.

"I will kill you for this!" Alcanor repeated through his tears and Glorfindel paled as he finally understood what had happened.

He was unable to speak, unable to try to tell Alcanor that they had never planned such a thing. Even if he had been able to, Alcanor would never have believed him and he had no reason to.

"Princess Eyaenne," Glorfindel breathed shocked and pale.

"Don't you DARE SAY HER NAME!" Alcanor spun around screaming. He wavered. The strong war leader, the royal warrior with so much pride, nearly stumbled had not Roewen come to his side and steadied him.

"Lock them up. I do not wish to see them," Alcanor said silently and gestured towards the Noldor.

"I will be with my sister." With that he turned around and slowly made his way to one of the trees, tears still adoring his face like diamonds. His shoulders slumped and his step tired.

This time the wood elves were cruel in the way they forced the Noldor forward. They took their weapons and their armour. Nothing could be read in their faces but in their eyes shone the same anger and pain he had seen in Alcanor's. They bound their hands and their eyes; making sure that they would not be able to see anything at all before leading them through the forest to a cave in the side of a massive bolder. The wood elves usually used this place to secure their provisions and to keep them dry. Sometimes it served as a hospital wing as well. But this time they used it as a prison and they closed the heavy wooden doors with the metal bars behind them. Glorfindel stumbled into the dark for he had gotten shoved through the door rather ungently.

He wanted to become angry but his mind kept showing him the picture of a young elven maiden with long, dark curly hair and silver eyes and all his anger vanished.

"Glorfindel!" A yell rang through the small cell.

Elrohir jumped to his feet, running towards his mentor. His lip was split and swollen, his left eye was black and the tunic over his shoulder was wet with cold blood. Twigs stuck in his messy hair and in his orbs burned with fear.

"Elrohir!" Glorfindel recognised, momentarily relieved. "What happened to you? Did Alcanor do this to you?"

"What? No! It was this bloody spider! Tell me: How is Eyaenne?"

Glorfindel just looked at him sadly before solemnly shaking his head.

"No!" Elrohir breathed, stumbling backwards his eyes wide with shock and pain.

"It is my fault, all my fault!" His words were nothing more than a whisper in the air.

* * *

The door opened and crashed loudly in the opposite wall revealing an escort of wood elves. Bows in their hands and arrows notched they waited for the Noldor to come out of the storage room in which they had been sitting for hours.

Alcanor stood several feet away; his face a cold mask which did not show any of his emotions but his silver eyes were a thunderstorm of anger and pain. He did not say a word. He just turned away wordlessly and the woodelves made the Noldor follow him quickly. After a few minutes, more elves joined the group, bearing stretchers occupied by the injured remains of Glorfindel's patrol. Relieved, the balrog slayer saw that apparently they were still being cared for faultlessly.

Suddenly, Alcanor stopped dead in his track before hurrying back the way they had come. Glorfindel saw the sorrow suddenly appearing in the faces of the wood elves and knew the elves who were carrying Eyaenne's body must have joined. One of the soldiers raised his voice and his clear sad song filled the air. The trees shifted as if they joined into the lament, their leaves rustling in distress. Glorfindel tried to turn to see Eyaenne but the Princess was out of his sight.

They walked for hours and all Glorfindel could think about was how he was supposed to save the lives of his patrol and how he could possibly prevent a war. He had asked Elrohir what had happened but the young elf had been unable to give him an answer no matter how insistently he'd asked. The problem was that Glorfindel had no idea how he could possibly convince Greenwood to not go to war! Bloody hell, they had every reason to and from their perspective, it really looked like Imlardis was attacking them directly, aiming for the very heart of this great kingdom!

Suddenly, Glorfindel realised that Alcanor was staring at him coldly. When did the Prince return? Why was he not with his sister's body? He did not strike him as a person who would overcome his grieve quickly, nor silently. A thought shot through his brain, hot and intense and gave him a faint shimmer of hope: She was not dead yet. She was still hanging on and the healers still battling for her life. The healers and soldiers carrying her would have taken a quicker route to get her to their destination without getting slowed down by their prisoners. While Alcanor prayed his sister would survive, as crown prince it was his duty to see his prisoners secured. He was anxious to be with his sister but he could not leave. Glorfindel hoped, hoped for this honest elf in front of him and all the people of Greenwood that the princess would live. But his hope did not blind him for the fact that Alcanor was still going to kill them. The crown prince had already sentenced them to death and all he had to do was to officially repeat this sentence. They would die in front of a crowd and he could not blame them. It would have been so much easier if he could be angry and disrespectful!

He carefully looked around but noticed quickly that they would not be able to escape while being guarded as heavily as they were. Also some of his people were still injured. The wood elves were experienced warriors, their arrows precise and quick and the trees of Greenwood would not assist Glorfindel either but would betray him to their beloved Silvan and the Sindar they had accepted as their family.

From one second to the other, something drastically changed. Wind rustled through the leaves of the trees and even the Noldor felt that the forest had stopped its lament. The wood elves instinctively pulled their weapons and some made to leap in the boughs of the trees before they relaxed slightly.

Alcanor on the opposite tensed. He had not drawn his weapon but an odd emotion was now displayed clearly upon his handsome features. He ran forward, jumped on a big boulder and his searching eyes roamed the darkness underneath the closer trees.

An elfling appeared above their heads, jumping silently to the ground. Golden hair was flying behind him as he ran towards the Crown Prince. Alcanor jumped down the rock and in the next moment the elfling crashed into him only to be held in a tight embrace. The he-elf bend down to kiss the boy's head and his hands soothingly stroke the long hair.

"The trees are angry! Why are they angry? They are sad, so sad! It hurts! It burns in my chest, burns in my heart, burns in my head, makes me want to scream. The trees are helpless; how can they be helpless. They are angry, so angry, I feel their anger upon my skin like the hot touch of flames' tongue. Please make it stop! Make it stop! I cannot endure their emotions! So sad! My heart is heavy as stone, my blood boiling, yet it feels as if it was frozen to ice. It hurts! Please make it stop! Make their anger stop! Please!" The boy's muffled voice cried silently into the leather armour of the greenwood prince. His voice trembled and the words seemed heavy on his tongue, as if he was repeating an old poetry of ancient times.

"Tithen-las!" Alcanor soothed, kneeling down, without breaking the embrace. Tears stung in his silver eyes. He opened the mouth to explain the overwhelming feelings the young wood elf was receiving from the trees, yet the words stuck in his throat and all he could manage was to glare at Glorfindel -and the Noldor who stared at him in shock - accusingly and pained. Finally, Alcanor tore the elfling away from his chest, placing his hands carefully on the young one's shoulders. Considering his height, the child could not be older than the equivalent to an 6-year-old human. Tears were wet upon his cheeks and his clear blue eyes were reddened. His hair was gold in the sun and he bore a distinctive resemblance to the Crown Prince before him. He was clad in brown trousers and a simple dark green shirt. However, the stitching around his neckline showed he was a member of the Royal Family. Alcanor spoke carefully with the elfling before lifting him up and settling his weight on his hip. Short arms snuck around his neck. The crown prince placed his hand carefully on the small of the child's back, rubbing calming circles before nodding towards the elves who had stopped and starting walking again.

Glorfindel could not tore his gaze away of the young Prince carrying the child. Alcanor was a father? Again he felt how an icy hand clasped after his heart. He did not know why this revelation shocked him so much but seeing the Greenwood Prince caring for his son unable to explain what had happened send a shiver of guilt through his entire body even though he had done nothing to truly cause the situation.

* * *

Alcanor held Legolas tight against his chest. His precious brother was so distressed that he could barely reach him through the muttered words which spilled over the young one's lips. At least, Legolas had stopped shivering after he had ordered the trees with a sharp glare to finally SHUT UP! Now, Legolas was cuddling closer to him. Alcanor turned his head and frowned as he realised how the leader of the Noldor stared at his brother and him. Unease spread through his chest: He would not allow Legolas to get harmed, not by them! They were already responsible for so much pain!

Legolas fingers clutched his armour and he hid his face in the crock between neck and shoulder but he seemed to calm down.

It took them only minutes to arrive on the big clearing in the middle of the forest. The trees which were forming a protective wall around this sacred place moved their branches to create a pass way in the thick wall. Sand covered the hard earth and made it impossible for any plants to grow.

Falin came running towards him, anxiousness written clearly on his features.

"Alcanor! I am sorry! Tithen-las he – he ran away, I am sorry Alcanor I should have paid more attention but –"

"I got him, muindor," Alcanor answered but his voice was shallow and nothing more than a soft whisper.

Elladan's eyes focussed on the new elf and he felt how the blonde elf next to him shifted. His mentor had been by his side the entire time, ready to aid him if his body weakened. He had beaten the orc poison in his system but still felt a bit giddy at times. His arm was throbbing with each step, but determination made him walk on. Elrohir had not spoken to him since he had joined the uninjured part of the patrol. It had been the seneschal of Rivendell who had explained him why they had suddenly found themselves in the position of prisoners. Worried as he was Elladan had tried to speak with his twin who was clearly hiding something. Elrohir had just continued to stare emotionless ahead refusing to react in any way. Finally, Elladan had settled for opening his mind wide and offer silent comfort for Elrohir, not expecting an answer.

Elladan noticed the long, pale silver hair and the silver eyes but his foggy mind did not come to any conclusions as to who this new elf might be. Instead, Glorfindel's brow furrowed. He had recognised Falin as Thranduil's youngest son. He too had the same rare unusually bright silver eye colour as Alcanor and in contrary to princess Eyaenne he had – just like Alcanor – inherited his father's hair colour. Why were all the king's children positioned here?

"What happened?" Falin asked as suspicion entered his silver orbs.

"Tithen-las?" Alcanor asked softly, unconsciously using Legolas' nickname as he often did. Legolas raised his head and the elder elf forced a soft smile on his lips then he met the blue orbs.

"I have to speak to Falin, tithen-las, but I won't be long, I promise. You mustn't speak with these elves; do you understand that? They are dangerous and I cannot bear to see you harmed. Do you understand me, penneth? You _must not_ go close to them. This is very important!"

"Why are they dangerous?"

The crown prince sighed and kneeled in the dirt in front of his brother, gently taking the small hands in his and stroking Legolas' palms, more to calm himself then for anything else.

"They have … one of them has hurt Eyaenne. He has hurt her very badly. That is why the trees were angry, too. They have committed a crime and they will be punished accordingly."

"What will you do with them?"

"They did something very bad, penneth, and Eyaenne is in a lot of pain. The law allows me to kill them."

Falin had frozen in his movements, staring at his eldest brother with empty eyes before he turned with unease, his silver eyes darting around in search for his wounded sister.

"But why do you punish them all? Did you not say only one of them hurt Eyae?" Only curiosity sparked in the innocent question of the intelligent youngster. _He does not appear to be shocked at all that his Adar wants to kill us, _Glorfindel thought darkly, wondering what happened behind the foliage of the wood of Greenwood the Great.

Alcanor stared down for one second before yet again meeting the innocent gaze.

"Do you remember then you knocked off daeradar's vase? The one I liked so much?"

The elfling nodded.

"I did punish you, did I not?"

"Yes, but I knocked it off!"

"That is true. But do you recall that I punished Arahen as well?"

Again, the elfling nodded.

"What did I say why I punished him?"

For one moment Legolas seemed to think, before a smile suddenly split his face and he blurted: "Because even though he did not knock it off the table, he was just as responsible: He was chasing me playing tag in the palace, however, he knew we were not allowed to run in the palace. I would not have knocked the vase off if he had not chased me."

"Exactly! And that is why these Noldor will all be punished. Only one of them harmed Eyae but the others did not stop him. They had even come to Greenwood in order to harm her even though they are not usually allowed to enter our woods. They had known he wanted to harm her. That is why I will kill them all!" The last sentence was filled with wrath and a dark venom and the elfling tore himself away from Alcanor's touch and retreated with fear in his eyes. He stumbled as he fled from his older brother who had obviously scared him deeply. Alcanor frowned and paled, remaining on his knees and staring at his little brother. Legolas had never before been frightened of him. Never before. It was like a dagger had been thriven into his chest and someone was turning it painfully.

Falin scooped Legolas into his arms and was holding him protectively while glaring at Alcanor.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to say this! Las! Please, I did not wish to frighten you!" Alcanor finally found his voice and he heard himself begging without being ashamed. Legolas sniffled but he nodded and then Falin put him back on his feet he walked up to Alcanor and kissed him on the cheek before hugging him tightly.

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	6. 6: Never forget who I am

Glorfindel watched the two royal princes leave the clearing, leaving Alcanor's son, Tithenlas, in Roewen's care. Wood elves were standing around the Noldor in a circle, bows in their hands and only waiting for them to make a false move.

Tithenlas slowly and cautiously walked closer to the Noldor. Glorfindel noted that all of his soldiers ended their whispered conversations and instead focused on the elfling. Roewen followed Tithenlas with watchful eyes and did seem slightly exasperated that the elfling had decided to close in. No doubt she would stop him before he passed the circle of armed elves.

Elladan nudged Elrohir and joked: "Alcanor already has a son. We have not even managed to get a beautiful elleth for ourselves. Maybe we should ask him for some tips? I suddenly feel so unwanted!"

To his relief, a small smile appeared on Elrohir's lips even though the sad expression remained.

"I have already met the most beautiful elleth in entire middle-earth, Elladan. And instead of protecting her, I caused her to get severely harmed maybe even killed. But even if I had not done that, I doubt Alcanor would give me any tips how to court his sister!"

The other twin looked at him in shock before drawing him into a hug and holding him tightly.

Meanwhile, Tithenlas had stopped several meters away from them. Roewen had stopped him with a sharp word. Glorfindel focused on the elfling without lifting his hand which lay on Elrohir's shaking frame. Tithenlas cocked his head to one side and openly stared at him.

"Have you really killed a balrog?"

The question came so unexpectedly Glorfindel had to blink several times before it sunk in. He opened his mouth to answer but the young one was quicker.

"You do not have to talk about it if it brings you pain. I am sorry, I should not have asked. I knew it would bring you pain: Everyone died. It brings me pain to remember …" He hesitated and Glorfindel saw how a shadow of deep grief clouding the blue eyes, grief, too powerful to be in the eyes of an elfling so young. "To remember people who have died." Tithenlas finished slowly. His blue eyes cast to the ground, his shoulders slumped in misery he made to turn around and leave.

"Yes, I have."

Tithenlas flinched but as he turned an eager smile was on his lips and the innocence he was radiating made Glorfindel chuckle softly. Glorfindel expected a thousand questions to be asked now. His experience told him that elflings could be extremely annoying and wanted to know every single detail: How big was the balrog? Had he been afraid? Was the balrog on fire? Did it speak? Where did they fight? How long took it to kill the balrog? Has he himself gotten injured? What clothes had he been wearing? What sort of weapon had he used? Did he like chocolate? What …

Tithenlas sat down on the sandy ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and seemed to think. Finally, he opened his mouth and asked one single question:

"How?"

Glorfindel blinked. Against his will he smiled fondly.

"I killed him with my sword. However, I got killed as well. The balrog dragged me with him as he fell. I died in his flames." Once again he felt the searing pain of hot flames licking his tender skin and he quickly tore himself out of his nightmares.

"But you live. Therefore, there must be something after death and the halls of Mandos truly do exist," the elfling concluded, a sad smile making him look a lot older.

"Did you kill Eyae?" His voice had not changed and yet Glorfindel felt the words ringing in his head, making his limps heavy, his eyesight dizzy and his throat as hot as if the balrog's flames were once again burning him. How did this elf manage to make him so uncertain? Something in his soul screamed every time he was speaking with a member of this blasted Royal Family of Greenwood! Screamed and told him it should not be this way; they should not be as distanced. They should be close to him. They should be important to him as friends. Yet, mistrust weighed heavily upon their interactions.

"Did you kill her?"

Kill. The elfling spoke of death and his blue eyes betrayed that he actually understood what he was saying! _Death_ was nothing elves understood. Men learned it easily enough, dwarves learned it as well as hobbits or any other race. But elves, the _immortal _race, did not understand death so easily. Children did not know what this words truly meant, nor did many adults. Only elves who had seen another elf getting killed truly learnt the word's meaning. _Who had seen another elf getting killed …_

"No, I did not –" Glorfindel started, but Tithenlas interrupted him.

"I was not talking to you, Lord Glorfindel. I know you did not kill her. I was talking to Lord Elrohir."

Elrohir's head snapped up to look at the elfling his eyes wide with fear. How could Alcanor's son seem so mature if he in fact was only a few decades old? Elrohir started shaking with his eyes fixed on the calm elfling. Elladan carefully touched his twin's arm, shaking him gently. Elrohir flinched before he visibly forced himself to breathe.

"Yes," he answered heavily, his voice horse. "Yes, I did. And I am sorry."

With his words, Tithenlas began shaking and tears began rolling down his cheeks. He jumped to his feet and fled. Roewen dropped the bread she had just taken out to eat and ran after the young prince.

* * *

Glorfindel woke slowly. His head was pounding and his entire body ached. Looking around he realised it was early morning. He had slept through the entire night. The sun was crawling through the trees, warming the sandy ground of the clearing. Elladan and Elrohir sat together, holding onto each other tightly. Elrohir stared into thin air. He seemed defeated and hopeless. Elladan in contrast had his hands curled up in fists, anger and guilt radiating from his tense body. Instantly, the balrog slayer felt how his instinct kicked in to protect them: He had known the two for all their lives. They were very dear to him, closer to his heart than many would have guessed. They seemed to be only a shadow of their usual selves. No cheeky smile, no mischievous glint in their eyes.

Before Glorfindel could jump on his feet and hurry towards the two elves, a movement caught his eye. Tithenlas. The little elf was cautiously coming towards them. His blue eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and the traditional children plait in his hair had slipped out of the leather strap and was slowly coming apart. Almost immediately, Glorfindel's protective instincts shifted. The twins were adults, well capable of helping themselves. This young elfling on the contrary was a child, a child who obviously needed condolences. Glorfindel found himself at loss for what could he possibly say to console an elfling who had just lost his aunt because of one of his soldiers?

"Tithenlas?" He asked gently and the young elf flinched violently. He responded to Glorfindel's inquiry by calmly staring at him and then asking:

"Why did you kill her? Why do you hate us so much? What did we do to make the Noldor hate us? Will you try to kill my Ada too? And me?"

Elrohir had listened to desperate words and felt his sadness drowning him. Elladan noticed and forced a small smile on his face than he answered the question without slipping out of the loose hug he was sharing with his guilt-stricken twin.

"We do not hate you, Tithenlas! And we will not try to kill you or your Ada. We did not want to kill Eyaenne either. It was an accident and we deeply regret what has happened. It pains us to think about your loss, for Princess Eyaenne is a beautiful and gentle elleth. I hope she will survive the injuries she has suffered due to our misbehaviour. As far as we know, she is not dead yet and we pray to the Valar that she may stay in Middle-earth for many years longer before having to go to Mandos' halls or sailing into the west. We are sorry, Tithenlas, incredible sorry. But no words can heal the wounds we have caused." By the end of his speech he felt how wet tears were slowly making their way down his cheek, while his brother shook with silent, self-directed anger, guilt and pain next to him. He did not want to die, but his spirit was saddened and his brother's dark mood was affecting him as well. He had given up, knowing that nothing he said would change Alcanor's mind, no matter how true his words might be.

The elfling listened carefully. Then he turned to the silent twin next to Elladan and spoke to him directly.

"You are filled with sadness, Lord Elrohir, however your brother is filled with rage. You are the night craving for light and hope to fill your heart, while your brother loses himself in self-loathing unwilling to see the stars shining brightly." Once again the elfling spoke words that did not seem to mirror his young years but seemed ancient and wise beyond all boundaries. A smile appeared on the child's face, a smile so true and clear that it warmed Glorfindel's heart.

"Yet I sense your brother's words speak truth: You did not kill Eyae and you regret her injuries which were not caused by your hand. I will tell my Ada and he will let you go! My Ada can do anything he wants and if I ask him he will believe my words!" With that, Tithenlas grinned widely a fire burning powerful behind his blue eyes as he turned abruptly and ran away, his step dancing and jumping.

Glorfindel stared after the young elf and suddenly began laughing sourly. He just imagined Tithenlas telling his Ada he should let them go. He would have loved to see Alcanor's face!

The balrog slayer choked on his laugh when he actually saw Alcanor's face! The Crown Prince was walking towards him, the child clutching his hand tightly, laughing and jumping up and down. There was a frown upon Alcanor's brow and he watched his son intently as Tithenlas kept talking happily. Apparently, Alcanor had re-plait his son's children plait because his hair was brushed and the plait lay thoroughly on top of his hair. What astonished Glorfindel was the fact that the crown prince seemed to actually consider what his son was telling him! As they came closer, the silver eyes left Tithenlas and instead met the counterparts of the ancient lord. Unable to read Alcanor, Glorfindel just stood up and stood straight.

Alcanor asked something and Tithenlas answered but both of them were now purposely using the heavy woodland accent which the balrog slayer was unable to understand. Tithenlas stumbled over a word, repeating it to try to pronounce it correctly. His face was one of utmost concentration. For the first time Glorfindel saw how a true, genuine smile tugging at Alcanor's lips as he bent down and silently pronounced the word correctly, urging his son to repeat it after him.

Than the handsome elven warrior rose his eyes and his face became once more the cold, unemotional mask of indifference. More than ever he looked like Thranduil.

"Tithen-las has told me you were innocent of the crime to … _hurt_ … my sister" Alcanor said, unaware of the fact that his continued use of Legolas' nickname made the Noldor think that his baby brother was his son. He had caught Legolas as he was running towards the horses. The young one had been planning to ask some elven warriors to take him back to the palace so he could speak with his Ada, King Thranduil. Of course Alcanor had asked the elfling what was so important that it could not wait till they all returned to the palace and Legolas had willingly told him that – in his eyes – the Noldor were innocent. Alcanor found this hard to believe: He himself had found his sister, unconscious, bleeding, with a deep wound in her torso and her blood leaving her weakened body. Only Alcanor's skill as a healer had saved his sister of dying that very moment in a puddle of blood on the forest floor. He still did not know if he had been in time, if he had done enough. Eyaenne had already been taken to the palace where Greenwood's best healers would at this very moment be tending to her wounds. It had been Alcanor who had picked up the elven dagger where it lay on the grass beside his sister. An elven dagger, covered in blood and with the emblem of Imladris crafted into its hilt. And one of his patrols had come back with Lord Elrohir of Rivendell, whom they had found lost under the trees, elven blood covering his sleeves and one dagger short.

Yet Legolas had proven in the past that sometimes he sensed things which turned out to be true. Things he could not possibly know. Maybe the Noldor were innocent, no matter how unbelievable that was. The problem with Legolas instinctive skill was that he was still an elfling. An elfling who slew imaginary dragons and balrogs, an elfling who could forget the world around him when he was talking to his beloved trees or wandering in the gardens of the palace. How do you know whether Legolas sensed the Noldor were innocent or if his childish mind just refused to accept such cruelty from his own kind? In his point of view, only orcs and spiders could be evil enough to hurt an elf.

Glorfindel's eyes widened as he realised that Alcanor, against all hope, seemed to consider his son's words. His eyes darted towards the twins, glaring pleadingly at Elrohir who had risen his head to listen to the wood elf's words. The balrog slayer had no idea what had happened between the twin and the princess.

"I am responsible for her death," Elrohir whispered defeatedly. Alcanor flinched violently and Tithenlas clung closer to the warrior's form.

"I found your dagger next to her, covered in her blood. And the only words I heard her speak were these: _Lord Elrohir … betrayed me_. Am I correct in assuming you drove your dagger through her torso?" Alcanor asked calmly, a barrier slammed down behind his eyes to hide his emotions. Glorfindel paled as he heard these words.

"I did not. However, I am still responsible for what happened."

"What happened?" The elven prince almost sounded bored, as if these things were not affecting him at all. Glorfindel felt uncomfortably reminded of Thranduil.

"I … distracted her. I had not seen the smaller spider which was closing in, nor did she. It … It tore a hole into her. There was so much blood. I … For a moment I forgot I was alone with her. I told Elladan to take care of her but of course he wasn't there. So I left her. She was bleeding out while I went after the spider."

"Care to elaborate?"

Elrohir rose an eyebrow inquiringly but he seemed defeated.

"How did you distract her and why?"

Elrohir shifted uncomfortable, tears suddenly in his eyes. He stared at the ground before taking a deep breath and rising his head.

"I kissed her."

Elladan and Glorfindel simultaneously gaped. As did the Noldor and greenwood warriors who listened to the exchange. Alcanor stared.

"Come again?" He asked.

"I kissed her!"

A fist connected with his face. Elrohir stumbled back, doubled over covering his broken nose with both hands. Alcanor brutally kicked him in the gut.

"Don't you ever dare to touch my sister!" He hissed, grapping Tithenlas' hand and turning to leave. But instead Tithenlas bent down, crying violently. Surprised Alcanor stared down, paling. He squatted next to the distressed elfling but as he tried to touch him, Legolas crawled back. Legolas was so confused! He knew the elf of Imladris had not hurt his sister, he knew! He felt it with his entire being. Yet why would his brother punish Elrohir if he had not hurt his sister? His brother was nice, gentle and happy. He would never rise his hand against another elf unless they deserved it! Alcanor was good! Why did he hurt another elf? He was so confused! And Eyaenne, was she dead as the other elf said or was she alive as his brother had ensured him? He suddenly felt warm arms wrapping around his shaking frame and he rested his head against Alcanor's broad chest, crying and sobbing. His brother was good! He was warm and careful and he loved him. But why did Alcanor hit Elrohir if Elrohir had not done something wrong? And he felt that Elrohir had not!

"He didn't do it!" Legolas sobbed the only thing he knew for sure.

"He did not do what, Tithen-las?" His brother's warm voice asked gently.

"He did not hurt her" Legolas snuggled closer to Alcanor, his fingers entwining themselves into the long silver hair.

Alcanor stopped stroking the little one to glare at the Noldor. He sighed and changed into the heavy Silvan tongue.

"I believe you, Tithen-las. And I trust you. I will let them go, all right? But even so I have to punish them."

"But you will not kill them?"

"No, I won't" This time the prince growled with displeasure.

"I love you, Al," Legolas murmured close to his ear. Alcanor rolled his eyes at the nickname he hated so much but he just tightened his embrace a little bit more.

"I love you too, Legolas," he silently whispered back. "And now, what about you go and look for Falin? If you ask him nicely I am sure he will take you to the cook and will get some food, does that sound good?"

Legolas nodded and his eldest brother carefully helped him back on his feet before ushering him away.

He when turned back to the Noldor.

"Roewen, Galion!" He hissed sharply and nodded towards Elrohir. The two wood elves stepped forward and grabbed Elrohir by his shoulders. Elladan screamed in anger, throwing himself at the wood elves but the Greenwood soldiers who were guarding them suddenly pulled an arrow out of their quivers and notched them onto the strings of their bows, the pointy ends directed towards the small group of Noldor. Roewen knocked Elladan to the ground and dragged a struggling Elrohir with her. Elladan jumped back on his feet and wanted to attack the she-elf once more, but an arrow hitting the sand floor a mere inch away from his foot was warning enough.

"Please, Prince Alcanor. Don't do this! I will happily give my life, but let my company go! They will not return to Greenwood and never set foot into this forest again! Are you slaying your own kind?" Glorfindel stepped forward but he was held back by an arrowhead pointing at his face. He held his hands up, desperation written in his eyes.

Alcanor completely ignored Glorfindel's plea. He did not show how Glorfindel's willingness to give his own life to save Elrohir's impressed him. In his mind, he saw the elf lord in an even higher light than before.

Elrohir was dragged before him. Roewen and Galion had a easy job to keep him still for the twin was not fighting against their grip. He only stood there resignedly. This, more than anything, made Alcanor believe Legolas might have been correct. He had expected fear and desperation, not acceptance of what were to happen. Still, Roewen and Galion made sure Elrohir could not reach any of their weapons that were partly hidden on their persons.

Alcanor stepped forward, his hand searching for the dagger on his side. An elven dagger with the crest of Imladris crafted in its hilt. Elrohir's dagger. With his free hand he grabbed Elrohir's tunic and ripped it off of the elf's slim form. He pressed his hand against pale, porcelain skin and felt Elrohir's heart beating underneath his fingers.

"Never forget who I am!" Alcanor threatened darkly, before rising the dagger and bringing it down.

* * *

"Hir-nin!" Thranduil looked up from the paper he was reading. _My_ _king_. His advisor, Lord Ganen, sounded as if he had been running the entire way to his office. The panting elf stood before him.

"Hir-nin! Princess Eyaenne has been wounded!" Judging by his voice the Princess was not just wounded, but standing at Mandos' doors, close to death.

"I am sure the healers do all they can" Thranduil said, all emotions hidden behind indifference. He scorned himself for he knew his voice sounded as if he was bored. He would not let any of the turmoil of emotion inside him show in his face or behaviour. However he felt his heart freezing inside his chest, beating slowly and sending a wave of pain through his body with each pulse. Thranduil forced himself to direct his eyes back to the paper in his hand, even though he could not truly see it.

"But hir-nin! Our Princess … she is dying!"

"Leave!" Thranduil ordered coldly but he felt how his control was slipping: his voice shook and his hand was slightly trembling.

Ganen hesitated, but finally followed his king's command, although reluctantly. As soon as the door closed behind the elf, Thranduil's hands suddenly clutched his shirt. The pain he felt was excruciating. He jumped on his feet, only to sway heavily. He _needed_ to get to his daughter! He limped over to the doorway, leaning heavily against the wood and taking deep breaths. For one moment he wanted to keep his control up, wanted give his people the impression of their emotionless king. But he couldn't. His daughter was dying. Without thinking he shed out of his outer robe, allowing himself to start running without the heavy fabric slowing him down. Had the healing ward always been so far away?

Finally, he arrived at the great wooden doors. Soldiers were guarding the healing ward, heavily armed. They bowed their heads in respect; understanding written in their eyes as they saw their king coming to an abrupt stop. Thranduil nodded towards them. He opened the door and slipped silently into the room. As soon as he lifted his eyes and he saw his daughter torn body, all control faded like smoke and he ran to her, falling to his knees, unable to make a sound.

* * *

Elrohir's high pitched scream filled the air as the dagger kissed his skin. Alcanor skilfully wielded the weapon and a second later he stepped back, breathing heavily. Blood covered Elrohir's chest, clearly revealing the five deep cuts. Two letters were written in his flesh: A and T.

"Alcanor Thranduillion," Alcanor spat.

"You will never forget me and you will bear these scars till the end of your miserable life, Elrondion. And know: If you return to Greenwood the Great or if you ever again touch anyone of my family, I will hunt you down! This is my promise for you. And what are a few cuts in exchange for your life? Be grateful, for I should have taken it from you!" He made a sharp hand gesture and Roewen and Ganion dragged the stunned elf back.

Yes, Elrohir's chest was burning like fire but he had thought the crown prince he had liked so much so many years back would kill him at the spot. Nothing but disbelief and thankfulness filled his heart. Elladan promptly kneeled down next to him, ignoring the tears on his cheeks and instead trying to stop the heavy bleeding.

"Lord Glorfindel," Alcanor breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily. He stood there completely still, the dagger still clutched in his hand. He was not facing the elven lord but had his back halfway turned towards him.

Glorfindel looked up, before stepping closer to the elven Prince. He expected the warriors to hold his arms but no one moved.

"You will let us go?" Glorfindel asked calmly.

Alcanor's jaw tightened and he nodded sharply.

"King Thranduil will have my head for this," he murmured and Glorfindel could not stop himself of wondering why Alcanor would address his father in this term.

"Thank you," Glorfindel said, bowing his head.

"How could it come this far?" Alcanor asked silently, rising his eyes and Glorfindel was reminded of how young the elf in front of him was.

"How could it come so far that we cannot trust our own kind? The darkness is closing in yet the races of elves are drifting apart. What have we done?"

Glorfindel could only shake his head. He had no answer for the other elf.

"Do not return to Greenwood, Lord Glorfindel," Alcanor said and he said it with so much respect and sorrow that the ancient elven lord almost stepped back.

"I have always admired you, my Lord, but I will not hesitate to kill you should you return. Mistrust is running deep and hard to confute. I will let you go, this last time. Do not try us again! The wood elves will mistrust me for my decision and my father might as well throw me in his dungeon. I will not defy him or my people a second time. Yet I trust tithen-las who vouched for your innocence."

"I … admire you, Prince Alcanor. I have underestimated you. Forgive me, I see you are pure of heart. Is there any way how to restore relationships between Imladris and Greenwood?"

"I am honoured by your words, yet I do not trust them. In my ears they ring as lies. The Noldor are our enemies. For now. No one knows what the future might bring."

"Yet, maybe Sindar and Noldor could get along?"

"If I find a Sinda in this Realm who is willing to risk everything by speaking with you, I will let you know." Again a sarcastic smile was tugging on the Prince's lips.

"I was hoping to speak to a greenwood Prince?"

"I am not Sinda, my Lord. I am perhereg." _Half-blood. _Alcanor used the term easily as if the word was not an insult but a title to be proud of. Glorfindel knew well enough that in Greenwood interracial marriages were frowned upon and children coming from such a marriage suffered insults and unfair treatment. In Greenwood, King Thranduil and Queen Luineth were the only proof of interracial marriages.

"There is one last thing …," Alcanor began.

"Do it!" Glorfindel said, already opening his shirt.

"Do it. Cut your initials in my flesh if that is what you have to do!"

Surprised, Alcanor nodded and lifted his hand. Glorfindel noticed with amusement that the young elf did not lower his guard but in the contrary was expecting a trap. He set his jaw tight and waited for the pain to explode on his skin. He held still while the elf cut the two letters in his flesh. His eyes burned but he forced himself to not flinch away from the sharp blade. Seconds later, the two letters were carved in his left chest.

Alcanor slowly stepped away. Blue eyes met silver ones and the elven prince nodded shortly, bowing his head slightly before he turned around and gave silent orders.

* * *

**_Please review!_**


	7. 7: The messenger

Glorfindel stepped on the balcony, spotting Elrond almost instantly. The elven Lord stood at the handrail, his long fingers softly touching the smooth surface of the wood. His brown wise eyes were fixed on the proud forest, its leaves turning into shades of red and gold in the late summer. The setting sun cast a long shadow of the tall slim figure.

"Elrond," Glorfindel softly drew the half-elf's attention to himself. Elrond turned his head and gestured Glorfindel to step next to him. The fair elf complied and soon his eyes wandered over the treetops, searching for what captured the half-elf's attention.

"I have received word that a wood elf is nearing Imladris," Elrond answered the voiceless question.

"King Thranduil has send a messenger?" Glorfindel asked, surprised. His hand unconsciously rose to his chest and rubbing his shirt which he knew it hid the two letter shaped scars.

Elrond noticed the movement and looked down at his hand, his brown eyes filled with worry. The balrog slayer smiled weakly and let his hand fall as soon as he noticed.

"It appears so," the lord of Rivendell answered calmly. "I worry what this might mean. It has been almost seventy years since our last encounter and as the scars on your body prove this has not been helping the relationship between our realms. It is hard to imagine Thranduil will forgive us so quickly, after his daughter's death."

"When will the greenwood messenger arrive?" Glorfindel asked, a concerned frown upon his wise brow. He dreaded what the purpose of this messenger might be. He was fairly sure it would not be a declaration of war, for King Thranduil would have attacked decades ago if he had decided to do so. No Noldo had sat foot into the forest again since Glorfindel and his patrol had returned.

"Sometime tomorrow morning. It will depend on whether or not he will rest."

Elrond's eyes once again fell on the features of the gold haired Noldo. He was surprised to see something in his eyes. Something bright. Hope. He would have expected resentment, anger, maybe even fear, but certainly not hope.

"What are you hoping for, mellon-nin?" He asked gently, his voice still softer than usual, afraid his words might remind Glorfindel of what the wood elves had done to him all those years ago. What the young crown prince of Greenwood had done to him.

"It is nothing," Glorfindel said quickly, before changing the subject back to the messenger: "We have to be very careful, Elrond. One wrong word could lead to a bloody war! What about the twins? They are due to come back tomorrow. I do not know how they will react, especially Elladan. You know, he has not taken Elrohir's scars as easily as Elrohir himself did."

"Do you think he will do something stupid?"

Glorfindel frowned, thinking for several long seconds.

"No, I do not think so. Elladan is full of anger but this anger is directed towards the situation, not towards the wood elves. He knows that if his and Alcanor's place had been reversed and Alcanor had kissed Arwen only to get her killed, he would have killed him without hesitation. I have to admit that I am impressed by how controlled Alcanor was: Yes, he scarred us, but only Elrohir and myself – the leader of the patrol. He did not even touch anyone else but let them and us go, even though he still thought us traitors. Had it not been for his son – he would have killed us and he would have been in the right. Imagine how it must have looked like from his point of view! There must be a reason why he trusted his son's word over his own bad feeling and what he knew."

"Tithenlas. He seems to have an extraordinary gift. I would very much like to speak with him, one day," Elrond nodded. "What about Elrohir?"

Glorfindel snorted: "Elrond, you know your sons well enough to know Elrohir even though he is the kind of person to act rashly, would not do anything to offend or harm another wood elf!"

"Glorfindel is right as always, my love," a soft voice rang behind them and they turned to face Lady CelebrÍan. At the sight of his beautiful wife, Elrond's face lit up and smile replaced the worry.

"I am sure they will be respectful, however we might want to send a messenger to warn them so they know we have a greenwood soldier in Imladris," Glorfindel suggested thoughtfully.

"I can ride," CelebrÍan offered and Elrond nodded thankfully.

"I will get changed and then set out immediately!" She smiled. She leaned in closer to her husband and kissed him softly. Elrond wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss before giving her a last squeeze. She smiled cheekily, squeezed Elrond's hand and then turned to walk back inside.

Glorfindel smiled fondly as he watched her go. He was good friends with the Lady of Imladris and he appreciated her intellect and her knowledge. She and Elrond were a beautiful couple. As Elrond noticed that his friend had been watching the small interaction, he rolled his eyes.

"We should prepare a room close to the entrance," he turned back to the subject of the greenwood messenger.

"We should also prepare and warn everyone living in Imladris. We cannot afford another attack on a greenwood elf. As much as you hate to do it: You will have to threaten severe punishment to ensure no one comes up with stupid ideas. I will speak with the elflings if you want me to. We do not need them sneaking up on the greenwood soldier for a dare."

"Thank you, mellon-nin. Your help is much appreciated. You are rather good at handling the greenwood elves."

"Do I need to remind you that I was the one who very nearly got us into a war?"

"Do I need to remind you, Glorfindel, that the cause of this has been the stupidity of my son and not your responsibility? Elrohir has acted stupid, there is no need to discuss this. Even if Princess Eyaenne had not been killed he would not have helped Rivendell and Greenwood to overcome our … controversy by kissing King Thranduil's oldest daughter. Thranduil is not the kind of person who watches his daughter falling in love with someone he deems an enemy - or if he did not see us as enemies back then - someone he does not trust without interfering. Elrohir knows he acted like a child and he has not forgiven himself, yet I cannot tell him otherwise for I cannot understand how he came up with the stupid idea to kiss Thranduil's daughter in the middle of a damn bloody battle in the first place!"

Elrond was frustrated. He knew his son was taking what had happened hard and he had seen how withdrawn the young elf has become in the last decades. Yet no matter how much he tried to help he found himself unable to find words of comfort that could truly help.

"He was a young elf who has fallen in love for the first time, Elrond. I admit it could not have been more inconvenient but what has happened, happened and it was stupid, yes, but discussing it and worrying about it will not change anything. Let us focus on what is coming. You should speak with Elrohir as soon as he returns. Maybe it will help him to interact with the greenwood elf so he feels he can pay back some sort of debt. With his guilt and self-loathing his mind will come up with a silly idea like that: Having a debt."

"Will the greenwood elf not think we are antagonizing him if we let Elrohir be the one responsible for his well-being?"

"The elves of Greenwood the Great never cared about formality as much as we did. They are blunt. They do not think about doing things and speak about it for ages: They decide it and then act. We should just ask openly."

* * *

Once again Elrond was standing in the courtyard, his hands clasped behind his back and anxiety rising in his throat as he anticipated the arrival of a greenwood visitor. Glorfindel stood next to him and out of the corner of his eyes Elrond watched his friend carefully. By the way the balrog-slayer straightened his shirt for the third time within just as many minutes Elrond could tell he was just as anxious.

Before he could say something to put his and Glorfindel's nerves at ease, the beautiful sound of an elven horn rang through the air. Brown eyes instantly sought the end of the narrow bridge leading to the courtyard of the Last Homely House. The first thing he saw was a white proud stallion prancing just meters away of the bridge and a second later he saw the slender elven warrior dressed in greens and browns. A black cloth was hiding the elf's fair features. Brown hair was skilfully braided in a female version of the warrior plaits common in Greenwood.

The healer in him noted the fact that her left arm was in a sling. The warrior in him was more concerned with the fact that her right hand was clutching the hilt of a sword, the silver blade catching the sunlight as it fell through the leaves of the trees above her.

She was not holding the reins; she seemed to fully control the horse's movements. It slowly pranced closer to the bridge where it when stopped.

"I bring a message for the Lords of Imladris!" She yelled across.

"Lower your weapon. You are welcome here and we will do you no harm," Elrond said just loud enough for her to easily understand.

Hesitantly, she returned the sword into the scabbard at her side and took up the reins with her now empty hand. Her body was rigid as she led her horse over the bridge.

She dismounted in a fluid motion while her eyes never left the two elf lord's in front of her. For several seconds she just stood there, then she reached up to tear the cloth away from her face.

Glorfindel instantly recognized the fair features.

"Roewen!" He said, surprised for one moment.

Elrond quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Lord Glorfindel", Roewen replied, nodding her head in a sign of respect. "It is good to see you under different circumstances. Prince Alcanor has a high opinion of you." Her eyes narrowed. "Let us see if he is right."

"I assure you, you will not be harmed while in Rivendell" Glorfindel smiled, understanding what she was implying.

"How is Prince Alcanor? I hope he was not punished too severely for letting us go."

_-Flashback-_

The king was sitting in a chair, his robes pillowing around his feet. Nothing in his features betrayed the fact that he had neither slept nor eaten for four days. Just two hours ago, sleep had finally claimed his body, his eyes glazing over and his lids halfway hiding the blue orbs in exhaustion. His breathing was deep and constant.

Daeros and Arahen were both sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall under a window, arms wrapped around their knees. Their long silver hair fell over their shoulders and mingled with strands of the other's. Both of them stared into thin air, deep shadows under their eyes. A half empty plate of food stood between them; unlike their father they had been able to eat something.

Iarith sat on a bench, pillows softening the wood. A blanket was covering her dress and her hands were playing nervously with some fabric. Tear marks were visible on her cheeks, but she had long stopped crying. Arahen had been successful in calming her down, hugging her and whispering comforting words that Eyaenne was going to be all right.

"You should eat something, Iarith," Daeros voice suddenly sounded softly next to her. He had gotten up and taken the plate of cold food over to her.

"I am not very hungry," Iarith admitted, nonetheless taking the offered plate.

"I know," Daeros smiled sadly, sitting on the bench and threw an arm around her shoulders. "But you should eat something anyway."

"How long do you think they will need?" Arahen asked silently from across the hall, afraid of waking his father.

"They have been in there for four days," Iarith sighed tiredly.

"Yes, but that means there is still hope, doesn't it? If there was nothing they could do for her, they would have told us already. There is still hope," Daeros said.

Iarith smiled weakly, taking a sandwich from the plate and taking a bite.

Suddenly the door burst open and Alcanor stumbled inside. Behind him, Falin was striding in, holding Legolas' small hand in his own.

The king's glazed eyes snapped back into awareness and he jumped to his feet.

"Eyaenne! How is she? HOW IS SHE?!" Alcanor screamed, stumbling forward before falling to his knees and bowing his head. His body was shaking violently.

"It is my fault; it is all my fault!" He whispered desperately and his eyes were wide in shock.

"We do not know," Thranduil answered with his soft, distant voice. Since Queen Luineth had died he found it difficult to express his emotions as openly as he used to, the mask of indifference now in place even if he was just around his family.

"Arahen, please take Legolas outside," Thranduil asked calmly as he noticed his youngest was crying silently. Arahen nodded, lifting Legolas up and walking down the hall. Daeros followed him quickly, leaving Falin to be embraced by his sister.

Meanwhile, Thranduil kneeled down before his eldest son. He carefully caught Alcanor's chin in his hand and forced him to face him.

"It was not your fault, ion-nin," he stated, his voice a bare whisper. _My son. _The words did not leave his lips without effort. He had shut down due to his grief for the loss of Luineth for a long time. However, right now his son needed him and he needed to hear reassurances. His fatherly heart tore him out of his self-induced seclusion. There was no way he would ever deny his children what they needed most.

"It is my fault! It is my fault!" Alcanor kept on repeating, his shoulders slumped and his breath heavy.

"It is not," Thranduil denied, rising back on his feet. "Where are the Noldor? I will punish them personally!"

Alcanor rose his head and the king looked down on a tear stricken face.

"Alcanor? Where are they?" The king asked more subdued as his son did not answer.

"I let them go," the crown prince simply replied, his words barely over a whisper and Thranduil nearly missed them.

"Pardon me?"

"I am sorry Ada! I let them go!"

The king closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. He then opened his eyes and took a step towards his kneeling son. Alcanor flinched away but the slim Sinda just dropped to his knees once more. The silver fabric of his robes was pooling around his legs.

He took Alcanor's face in his palms and leant forward until their foreheads touched. Once again he closed his eyes, his thumb rubbing calming circles on the younger elf's cheek.

"I cannot say I am not angry, Alcanor," he finally said and his voice was calm and emotionless as often. "But I trust you. If you made the decision to let them go, I … I trust this decision. I would trust you with my life, Alcanor, and with those of your siblings for I know you will always protect them. I do not know why you let them go but I trust you had a reason for it, even if you will not tell me. I love you, ion-nin. And I know you love your sister and you would not hesitate to punish whoever was responsible for this. I trust you, Alcanor. Now, shush! Stop crying! It is all right! I trust you, I love you, it is all right! It was not your fault."

Alcanor had grasped the front of his Ada's robes and was now sobbing against his chest. It had been such a long time since he had last heard reassurances from his father as soft as these, spoken with so much love. It made him cry even harder, relishing the knowledge that his father loved him. Thranduil put his chin on the silver hair, his lips murmuring the comforting words over and over again. The king had not realised how much his son had been craving for words like these. He would have to remind himself to speak to his children more often to ensure they knew he loved them. He softly pushed a stray lock of silky hair behind the pointy ear of his son. It took several minutes for the young elf to calm down and he then stayed how he was.

"Can you tell me why you let them go?" Thranduil asked carefully.

"Legolas – he … he said they were innocent. I believed him."

"I see." Blue orbs were searching for the window through which they could just spot the form of three elves in the high branches of the tree closest to the healing ward. Arahen held Legolas cuddled to his chest and Daeros was sitting some feet away on a branch, his eyes fixed on his two brothers.

Thranduil's hand absentmindly stroke over Alcanor's silvery hair as he looked over his head for his other children. Falin held Iarith in his arms and they were watching them intently. A small smile crept on the king's lips as he saw how his children comforted each other silently.

"Did you let them go without punishing them at all?" He asked calmly, helping the warrior to come back to his feet.

"I … I …" The crown prince swallowed. "I was cruel bastard, Ada!" he finally admitted.

"Why? What did you do?"

"I cut my initials into their chests, Ada. I … scarred them. And I told them I would hunt them down if they ever again set foot into Greenwood or touched my sister."

"Did you cut your initials into the chests of all of them?"

"No, only … only the one who caused her to get harmed and the leader of the patrol. It was Lord Glorfindel … the balrog-slayer."

Against his will, Thranduil chuckled softly, imagining his son scarring the mighty elven warrior.

"It is all right then. They deserved it. And if those Noldor have anything remotely similar to a proper working brain they will be aware of that. They will know that – from our point of view – it looks like they deliberately tried to kill one of us. They should consider themselves lucky you let them go. I would not have done so. I do not believe they were innocent, however I will trust Legolas' word and your decision until I know more."

Suddenly, the door to the healing ward opened and everyone flinched and turned. A healer was standing in the frame, his hands covered in blood. A lock of hair had fallen in his face and there was blood on his forehead as well. However, a small smile was tugging on his lips as he just nodded tiredly and stepped aside to let the Royal Family enter the healing ward.

_-End Flashback-_

"He was not," Roewen answered after hesitating a moment, "punished too severely."

Elrond showed his surprise trying to not appear offending. He succeeded and as Roewen continued she spoke calmly, not having taken his surprise as an insult.

"King Thranduil is not half as short tempered as he makes you think, my Lord," she smiled, a cheeky glint in her eyes. "I believe he just enjoys seeing you tiptoe around him as if he could explode at any given moment. Truth be told, Thranduil is a patient man who reacts to insults with nothing but a smirk, unless of course, the target of said insults are his children or his wife. Or indicating Silvans would be worth less than Sindar, of course. I have never seen him lose his temper and the very idea seems absurd for my people. He just makes you think so. He once said it was just too much fun to see the Great Lord Elrond cover in anxiety."

Glorfindel stared at the elf in front of him, not believing what said elf just said. A small chuckle next to him drew his attention to Elrond. The chuckle grew louder until it was a loud, open laughter.

"However," Roewen interrupted. "Tiptoeing around my king and my people is at the moment the only thing to ensure your peace. I have not come to amuse you with stories of better times, my Lord, but I am here to deliver a message."

"Of course," Elrond sobered up quickly, remembering the dire situation. "But let me take a look at your arm first."

"My arm is none of your concern," Roewen answered coolly before reaching inside her leather armour, retrieving a letter sealed with the Royal Seal.

She stepped forward, the parchment resting on her outstretched palm.

Elrond took the letter and broke the seal. His eyes quickly read the few lines written in an elegant hand. He then paled as his mouth opened in shock.

"What does it say, Elrond, mellon?" Glorfindel asked concerned. _Friend_.

Elrond turned the paper so the balrog-slayer could read. He read:

_Greenwood the Great has fallen. We hold Mirkwood, Realm of King Thranduil. Do not enter Mirkwood for darker things lurk there than the king's wrath and the ire of its people._

_Prince Falin Thranduillion._

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**_Please review!_**


	8. 8: Royal Healing Ward

**Two weeks sharp :) The pace is going to be a bit slower from here on. I hope you enjoy it. As you might now, I am in NZ at the Moment and I will hit the road on monday, so I do not know when I will have Internet Access. Which means it might take me longer than two weeks to update. I will try to Keep it under 3 weeks, however I do not make any promises!**

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Legolas sighed as finally the palace came into their view. His arm throbbed with pain, the makeshift bandage around his wrist, elbow and shoulder was failing to take the pressure from the gash underneath. His knuckles were white as he gripped the stretcher with all his strength, willing himself to hold on and not drop the weight which threatened to tear him to the ground. His steps staggered, the wounded elf on the stretcher seemed to be heavier than a fully grown cave troll. His muscles protested loudly but seeing the palace so close gave him the strength to turn around and to give his patrol an encouraging smile.

The trip to the palace doors seemed endless. Legolas gave one of the less injured elves a nod and soon after the sound of an elven horn rang through the air, telling the palace guards they needed help and they weren't being followed. As soon as the guards spotted the scattered patrol returning, more horns rang through the air in response. The doors opened and the hall warriors came running towards them.

Suddenly Legolas' strength left him. He managed to put the stretcher down before he collapsed, his legs just unwilling to carry his weight any further. Eriandras, his second in command, was by his side within seconds. He had dark circles under his eyes, his brown hair hung loosely around his face and exhaustion was clearly etched in his features. Nonetheless his bright eyes shone with worry. He held Legolas upright, glancing in his blue eyes and searching for pain. Relief replaced worry as the warriors of the palace reached them. They did not ask questions but picked up the stretcher and helped those who had been walking.

Harias, the leader of the guard, bowed down and took Legolas' arm, placing it over his shoulders, pulling him to his feet as he stood.

"Are you wounded, my Prince?" he asked calmly.

"A gash in my arm. It is poisoned and went untreated for two days", Legolas breathed heavily, closing his eyes as the world seemed to spin around him. Harias gave him several seconds to regain his bearings before starting to move towards the halls.

"Otherwise I am just tired", Legolas voice was soft and he leant heavily on the other elf who bore his weight easily. Harias snorted and Legolas believed he heard him muttering the word 'otherwise' under his breath.

"Casualties?" Harias asked as they slowly made their way through the wood. A ghostly smile appeared on the tired features of the younger elf.

"None." Harias let out a breath he had not been aware he was holding. "No one escaped unscathed, but we lost no one. The orcs followed us for a while but the outer border patrol held them off. There were enough elves to fight them so we continued back here so the wounded could be treated."

They made it back to the palace slowly. Harias ended up carrying Legolas more than just supporting him. He brought the youngest Prince directly to the Royal Healing Ward. This was a secluded section of the healing ward there only few had access to.

Two healers took over as soon as they spotted him. They brought him through the door into the Royal Healing Ward.

Legolas lifted his pounding head. It was a big room. A balcony opened in the back of the room, the big windows allowing light to fall into it. Nine beds were to be found in the part of the room closest to the door. A brass sign on each stated to whom the bed belonged. Legolas' was in the very front of the room, next to Falin's and opposite to Daeros'. Each member of the Royal family had their own bed, the ninth bed belonging to Roewen, who had been Alcanor's girlfriend for several years now.

Next to each bed stood a small bedside table and a big wooden crest for their armour, clothes and personal items stood to the foot of each bed. A big wardrobe next to the door held several sets of fresh garments of each person, as well as a range of soft nightclothes and warm jumpers.

In the back of the room, close to the doors that opened to the balcony, one could find a comfortable sitting area with couches and armchairs with blankets and heaps of cushions. In the other corner was a big, sturdy table which offered enough place for everyone to work there at once. A calendar and a map were pinned against the wall above it.

Three doors opened out of the room: One leading to a smaller, separate room for the healer's, filled with bandages, herbs, creams, teas and all sort of medicines. The other two doors opened to two bathrooms.

Two of the beds in the room were already occupied: Daeros sat in his bed, his face pale, cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. He shot Legolas a worried glance but after he had taken in his appearance he seemed to relax a bit. He gave Legolas a tired smile. Eyaenne was apparently sleeping in her bed, her back turned towards the door.

As he entered the room with the healers, Iarith jumped up from there she had been sitting at the table in the back of the room.

"Legolas!" she said, hurrying towards him and helping him to sit down on his bed. One of the healers instantly began undressing him and Iarith helped him to take off his weapons as the other healer already left to bring bandages and boil water for tea.

"A gash in my arm. Orc poison" Legolas said, the world around spinning once more. "What about them?" He did not have to specify whom he meant.

"Daeros was bitten by a brown spider a week ago. He is pulling through. He is running a rather low fever but he needs lots of sleep. He will be fine in a couple of hours, maybe a day. Eyaenne is uninjured."

Legolas refrained from nodding as his head told him he would not appreciate such treatment.

It was nothing unusual that those of the Royal Family who were in the palace stayed in here if one of them was wounded. Truth be told, Legolas could not remember the last time he had actually slept in his own room for he usually spent all his nights in here, either as a patient himself or as company for someone else. There was always one of them coming back from patrol wounded.

Some nights could be really nice though. Legolas loved to have his siblings and his father around then he was here, sitting on the balcony or in the boughs of the tree which branches reached over the balustrade. As much as every one of them enjoyed solitude they needed each other dearly. Especially since Queen Luineth died they had been closer than ever even if her death was many centuries ago.

Legolas tuned out. He barely felt how the healers were dressing his wound properly. A mug of steaming tea was pressed in his hands and he held onto it tightly.

Legolas woke to the calming sound of familiar voices. His mind was sluggish and his eyelids were heavy. Why were his eyelids so heavy? Why did he sleep with his eyes closed? It did not take long until the memories of the orc attack came back. Poison. Valar, it must have been a quite annoying poison if it left him this exhausted after drinking the anti-venom the healers had given him. Neither strong enough to kill him, nor weak enough to diminish within a couple of hours after taking the antidote.

He forced his eyes open and blinked tears away as the sun blinded him. Someone was sitting on his bed near his legs, back turned to him. His fingers played with long silver hair. It was catching the sun and for some moments Legolas just marvelled how it sparkled in the light. It must be Falin: He was the only one whose hair was that long.

"You need a haircut, Falin" he murmured softly. At the sound of his voice the elf turned sharply.

"Legolas. How nice of you to grace us with your presence. I hope your kingly nap was alright? Was the mattress soft enough, your highness?" Falin joked, keeping his voice down, knowing his baby brother probably had a headache. Also, despite his casual words, his eyes stayed serious. "What do you wish for breakfast? Pheasant? Fish? I could prepare some bacon with scrambled egg and … Legolas? I am sorry, are you all right?"

Legolas stomach clenched painfully and he could tell his cheeks were most likely a sickly green colour. The thought of food was repulsing and Legolas shut his eyes tightly, his hands still gripping the sheets of his bed. He felt Falin's hand carefully combing through his golden hair.

"Idiot!" he heard Eyaenne's voice, followed by a soft _thump_ and a whelp from Falin.

A snicker told him that either Arahen was here or Daeros was getting better. It stopped quickly though, as Legolas did not open his eyes.

For several moments it was completely silent, everyone waiting for him to open his eyes. The silence was good and Legolas took some deep breaths, before trying to sit up. Pain shot through his arm and he cursed softly. When he looked around he saw that Falin and Eyaenne were standing next to his bed, Arahen had put a foot against the crest on the foot of his bed, his arms crossed over his knee as he leant forward.

"Where is Daeros?" Legolas asked.

"He set out to Hawkstone a couple of hours ago" Arahen stated calmly, referring to one of the main patrol stations in the western part of Mirkwood. The second Prince was wearing muddy and bloody body armour, his weapons still on his person. Apparently he had just come back from another patrol. He had circles under his eyes, but he smiled softly.

"He went?" Legolas panicked for a second. "But he was ... the spider … he was…"

"It's all right, Tithen-las" Eyaenne calmed him. _Little leaf_. "You have been knocked out for five days. You woke up a couple of times, but I don't think you'll remember any of it?" Legolas shock his head. Five days? Hell, why had he been out for five days?

"The orcs used the venom of a brown spider. Do not ask me how they got hold of it. You haven't got a lot of venom in your system, however it went untreated for several days and therefore it knocked you out rather effectively. You got lucky: Orc poison would have been a lot more dangerous in this case, as it acts far quicker in such small amounts" Falin explained.

Legolas groaned. That sounded like him: Find the only orc in the forest who had managed to get hold of spider venom, get injured and leave the wound untreated for he had not recognized the poison as one for which he could find the anti-venom fairly easily in the forest. And that was what they considered 'getting lucky' in Mirkwood. How pathetic.

"Where is Ada?" he asked calmly.

"Council meeting", Falin answered. "Which is where I will be heading right now as well. He was here yesterday though. He got worried after he had heard you had been unconscious for several days. You did wake up while he was here, but you apparently did not recognize him. I have not seen him that close to panic since those Noldor almost killed Eyae. I will tell him you're awake and that you asked for him. I am sure he will come after the meeting, Tithen-las." _Little leaf._

With that, Falin stood up, smiled and straightened his fine clothes before leaving the room.

Arahen looked at Legolas for several seconds before he nodded and went over to his own bed to shed his dirty clothes. He vanished in the bathroom and by the time he reappeared in a night robe with his silver hair falling over his shoulders in wet strands, the healers had fussed over Legolas, urging him to eat some broth and to drink several awful tasting concoctions.

Arahen walked up to Legolas and took a seat on the bed. He silently searched Legolas' face while the younger elf just allowed it with a small smile. The second Prince of Mirkwood had always been silent. He bent forward, his hand cupping Legolas face.

"Be careful, tithen muindor", he just asked softly before pressing a kiss on Legolas forehead. _Little brother_. He then stood and walked over to his own bed, quickly drawing the covers back and then draping the blankets around his frame. The minute his head hit the pillow, his bright silver eyes glanced over in elven sleep.

Legolas followed his lead and fell asleep for several hours. Then he woke up the next time it was dark outside. Moonlight cast silver shadows and allowed him to see. A candle burned on the table in the far corner and Legolas heard the distinctive sound of a quill scratching over paper.

He slowly prodded himself up on his elbows. Arahen was still sleeping as were Falin and Eyaenne. The slim figure in the corner seated on one of the high chairs was the familiar form of Thranduil. Legolas sat up. He quickly found a white sling for his injured arm on his bedside table. He swiftly made use of it before he stood up.

The floor was cool under his naked feet as he walked over to his father. Wordlessly he took a seat and Thranduil's eyes rose from the parchment in front of him. For one second Legolas hoped his father would say something, but Thranduil simply pushed a stack of unsigned documents over and he sighed as he picked up a quill with his uninjured hand. Ever since his queen had died, openness towards his children came hard for Thranduil. That did not mean he didn't love them with all his heart just that he found it difficult to show them that.

Thranduil carefully searched the features of his youngest. It worried him that Legolas had come home injured yet again. He wanted to say something, but no words came over his dry lips. Instead he just took his untouched bowl of porridge with too much milk and pushed it in front of the other elf. Legolas stopped reading and instead smiled softly.

"Thank you, Ada", he said, understanding the silent message.

The Prince spent several hours signing papers and reading through detailed reports, until Thranduil softly touched his arm. The king had noticed that his son had trouble keeping his eyes open and that his injured arm seemed to hurt more and more. Therefore he stood to make a pain relieving tea for Legolas and a hot, sweet tea for himself to keep him awake.

"Drink your tea and then go to bed", he ordered Legolas in a voice which almost sounded bored in its silent distance.

The next day greeted Legolas with bright sunlight shining through his closed lids. He felt stiff and his body ached as he stood up, his arm carefully cradled against his chest.

The healers came to redress his wound and Legolas quickly drank all the teas they pushed into his hands. With his uninjured arm he rubbed his tired eyes, before awkwardly trying to get dressed. Only the two healers were here with him and Legolas would be damned if he accepted their help to get into his trousers!

It took him half an hour to get properly dressed. His light blue tunic elegantly underlined his slim tall body. The stitching around the neckline which indicated his status as a Prince in Mirkwood was barely visible, subtle and soft. He had trouble with his boots and ended up just wrapping the laces around his ankle and tucking them in his boots as good as he could manage with just one hand. He brushed his hair and deliberately took his crown to keep his long golden locks out of his face as he could not plait the warrior plaits as usual. At least King Thranduil would be delighted to see him wearing his crown. Legolas scowled.

When he entered the big hall, breakfast was almost finished. Thranduil's seat was already deserted, as well as Falin's, however Eyaenne was hastily scribbling notes down on a piece of parchment. Arahen was sitting next to her and appeared to be making soft comments between spoonfulls of porridge. Legolas grinned awkwardly. Eyaenne hated council meetings and usually she was quite successful at avoiding them all together, however this time she apparently had not run quick enough and she was now late to join the meeting.

Legolas sat next to Arahen and pulled the bread towards him. After he had managed to butter his bread, he enjoyed his quick meal. He could eat the entire slice of bread without feeling nauseous. The healers had only given him broth and liquid porridge yesterday to not upset his stomach. Rather happy with his success he turned to Arahen and had a proud smile plastered on his face. Arahen instantly understood what his brother was so happy about and set the spoon down in order to softly smile at him. The silver haired prince leaned over and gently touched Legolas' uninjured left arm.

"Coming to the training grounds this afternoon? We will have you back to active duty in no time."

"Do you think? I was knocked out for days. You think the healers will let me go any time soon?"

Arahen raised an eyebrow. The childish question was fairly unusual for the young warrior next to him, however, he was not going to say anything about it. Legolas should feel confident to come to his siblings with any problems and any feelings of anxiousness he might have, how unfounded they may be.

"I would rather worry about Eyae not letting you go and not about the healers" Arahen stated smiling before growing serious. "It will take a while, maybe two or three weeks. You will not be able to use your arm until it is healed properly and then you will have to work to regain your muscles. However I can help you with the early training if you want me to."

"What are you doing this morning?"

"I will discuss the new stations for patrols with the Council. The Darkness in the south is growing stronger: We will need to send more patrols down there and we hope we will be able to drive the Darkness back, after we gathered our powers first, so that we can later on expand our borders once more."

"Who will be leading the patrol?"

"One patrol will not be enough. There will be several patrols clearing the area of orcs and spiders before we set up patrol stations for the future."

Arahen shoved his empty bowl away from him and stood up.

"I have to go. Be on the training grounds two hours past noon."

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**Please Review!**

**Thanks to my beta-Reader Jaxzan Proditor!**

**Wordswithwind:** thans for your Review, I corrected that!

**bettsam0731:** Here you go, older Legolas! Thanks for your Review!

**saphiralovesTolkien**: I just remember how in most fanfiction, Thranduil does have quite a temper, yet it is not really in the books and I find it hard to imagine a king as powerful as him throwing tantrums like a 3 year old. Thank you so much for your continuing Reviews, it is motivating to see People are keeping up with the Story :)

**Toraach:** Thanks for keeping up with the Story and for leaving Reviews! Means a lot to me!

**HelloDenmark:** Glad you liked it. Thanks for your Review!

**camilleCS:** That is all right, I know how it is like to be without Internet for a while. I agree with what you said about Thranduil and I added a couple of sentences so i do hope it makes more sense now.  
To be honest, I had considered sending Eyaenne but that just would not make much sense: She will not trust the Noldor any time soon and she has no reason to! I never considered Legolas, but i did consider sending one of the other Royal Children, but then again: in the eyes of Thranduil the Noldor are tryng to kill his Family, so he would not allow his children to go to Imladris. However I did not want to create yet another character who will never again Play any role, so I Chose Roewen as she appeared before. I am glad I could surprise you a bit here, though :). And here you got grown-up Legolas! :D

**Sol:** Thank you for your great Reviews! Please Keep reading! (and leaving Reviews) Oh, and I like Elrond a lot, but I guess it is hard to really like someone if you distrust them as a lot of my characters do.

**Sadie Sil:** Thanks for your Review. Geez, expectations are high, I see! I hope I won't disappoint, even though you do leave me a bit concerned.


	9. 9: On Patrol

**Last week I got some reviews of people telling me how much they hated this story. Guys, if you hate the story ... why the hell are you reading it? I am not forcing you to read this and I do not Need people who tell me: 'I hated the entire plot'. You do not have to read it. If you have comments how I could improve this story, you are welcome to share them with me and I welcome _productive_ critique. But I do not need reviews which just tell me how much you hated reading 8 chapters of my Story and how terribly bad it is and that you will never again read my stories, for noone forced you to read this and you can stop at any second! If this is not your cup of tea, that is absolutly fine. If you do not like it, stop reading, hell, I really do not understand why this Person read through 8 chapters if he/she hated it so much. This is a fanfiction and I am not Tolkien, therefore I do not write like Tolkien.  
**

**I hope the rest of you enjoys this Story and how I handle these characters. I am a huge Tolkien fan but this is a fanfiction. I do try to Keep close to Tolkien's and Peter Jackson's version of th characters but that sometimes just does not fit with the plot.**

**Enjoy!**

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A surge of pride flashed through Legolas' mind as he watched the members of his patrol stepping in a line before his king. Legolas stood next to Eriandras who was still his second in command. The weight of his leather body armour soothed him and his weapons gave him all the confidence he needed. He had slung the shoulder strap of his bag across his muscular chest. It contained a water skin, dried fruit, nuts and lembas as well as a set of clean clothes and some healing material.

The group which had gathered behind him consisted not only of the members of his old patrol, but fifteen new elves that had been assigned to his command. They were going south into the most dangerous areas of the darkening forest and they needed the best warriors if they wanted to come back in one piece. Their patrol would lead them directly to Dol Guldur to drive out the darkness which infested the once beautiful forest.

Thranduil spoke few words but they were well-placed and showed his confidence in the warriors of Mirkwood. His brilliant blue eyes flickered over to Legolas for a brief moment, before he bowed his head to bide the patrols farewell.

Something tightened in Legolas chest and unease came over him. He looked over his shoulder however his keen gaze met nothing but the massive trunks of the ancient trees.

"Wait for a moment" he ordered sharply before turning and marching towards the nearest trunk. The other patrols were setting out and he felt his father's gaze upon him as he approached the ancient tree. Legolas placed his hands on the rough bark and closed his eyes. He did not need to focus to feel the energy beneath his skin. The feeling he had vanished which confused Legolas even more. Usually the tree's energy would be able to show him things more clearly, now however the trees did not share his feeling. Confused Legolas dropped his hands and shook his head. He then shrugged; He probably was a bit anxious about such a long, dangerous patrol. He turned and met his father's cool gaze.

"What is it, Legolas?" Thranduil asked calmly.

"Nothing, Ada", Legolas replied and went to turn to his patrol. _Father_. He hesitated and turned back, his eyes meeting Thranduil's.

"I love you, Ada." Legolas did not know where that came from; his tongue had been forming the words without asking his brain for permission first. Thranduil raised his eyebrow.

The only answer Legolas received was a levelled gaze, the king's fair face expressionless.

Legolas would not admit how much this cold indifference hurt him. Instead he just bowed his head and said: "I see you in a month, aran-nin." _My king._ With that the Prince turned. He signalled to Eriandras that they would depart. He did not turn back as he leapt into the trees with the other elves who quickly followed his lead. Legolas felt free as he ran over thick boughs. The trees greeted him in a loud chorus every elf could hear, but no one quite as loud as Legolas. If the youngest Mirkwood Prince had wanted too, he would have been able to find his way through the treetops with his eyes closed. His intense bonding with the trees' energies allowed him to feel the world differently. Even though being perhereg – half Sindar and half Silvan – his connection with nature was stronger than most Silvans could ever claim. His own bright inner light underlined his power, a power raw and wild and not to be defined by rules and laws of crafted by anyone in Middle-earth. Daeros and Eyaenne both believed it to be a power gifted by the Valar, a thought with which Legolas in particular was uncomfortable with. He did not see his close ties with nature as a high power, however he admitted that few had a similar connection. On the other side, the Royal Family had always been closer to nature than many of its people, a gift which helped them rule wisely. It always had and Legolas just happened to have inherited that talent in a yet unseen intensity.

They did not have to be overly careful. No orcs and no spiders were to be found under the light trees this close to the heart of Mirkwood. Instead of eyeing their surroundings suspiciously they could spend their energy on covering as much ground as possible. Of course that did not mean they were totally unaware of the forest around them, however they could trust the trees to warn them should a threat close in on them. Close to the palace one could still see easily why the forest used to be called Greenwood the Great. A perfect play of Nature, a safe haven for the elves living in the darkening wood.

The light trees sang their songs, delighted to help the elves hurrying through their boughs. They shifted ever so slightly to form a safe path for them. As they went deeper in the forest, the trees' leaves hid them from unwanted eyes. Once they hissed an angry warning to elves, informing them of a group of about thirty orcs who were stomping on the forest floor. Legolas abruptly stopped, signaling his patrol to wait for a minute. His head was cocked to the side as he approached the tree trunks.

"You are the ancient trees of Greenwood the Great and not mindless stones, are you not? Have you forgotten your glorious days; why is it that these orcs trespass in this land unchallenged? Are thirty orcs a match for you? Take them down. You do not need our help, not yet anyway. We are on our way south to help your brothers and sisters who are fighting viciously against their attackers, their courage failing under the pressing darkness. Think of them and fight. You have to stay strong. We cannot afford you to fall to the shadows. If that happens, what are we going to call this forest then? Darkwood the Despairing? You are light, so banish the darkness and keep your spirits high. If you truly are in need of assistance the elves of Mirkwood will gladly come to your aid. For now, we have to hurry to reach the darkening trees further south."

With his words, the magic glow of the trees, usually invisible, suddenly brightened and shone white like starlight. Screeches were heard further away and Legolas smiled at the sound of moving roots and branches attacking the group of orcs.

"Thank you, _calad_-_amdir_", the trees murmured. _Light-hope. _The leaves vibrated with strength and the elves continued their journey south.

They stopped regularly, resting for several hours before continuing on. Their pace decreased and the tension increased with every mile. Soon they could feel the darkness pressing down on them, the air heavy and thick. The trees were muttering dark words, barely aware of the bright beings travelling through their branches. Only when _calad_-_amdir_ would make a forceful connection with their minds they would be torn out of their reverie until Legolas' touch left them and they fell back into the shadows.

The patrol encountered orcs several times but the groups were small and they killed them swiftly with the use of their bows, not even leaving the trees.

It was late at night as they reached the southern border of the Realm. Legolas send bird sounds ahead and just a few moments later two elves of the border patrol appeared before them.

"Who goes there?" one of them asked calmly.

"Legolas Thranduilion", Legolas answered and stepped forward, his weapons securely in their sheathes.

"Prince Legolas!" the two elves replied and bowed their heads. "Follow us. The telains are not far from here."

It wasn't long before their keen elven eyes spotted the light of torches among the trees were it escaped through the fabric and leather walls of the telain, erected to stop the cool wind of the south and to hide said flames from the broken eyes of spiders and orcs.

Rain started to fall down on the roof of leaves above their heads, slowly finding its way through and falling down onto the elves in thick, heavy droplets of icy temperature. Legolas pulled his hood up and pulled his cloak tighter around his thin frame.

They came upon other elves who were sleeping in the trees, waterproof fabric over their heads keeping them dry. All of them were clad in their full body armour and other elves were guarding their comrades' sleep. They nodded respectfully as the patrol approached.

Legolas and Eriandras were led to the highest telain while the members of their patrol were finding the cook to get something to eat before going to sleep.

Eriandras stepped through the opening between two waterproof blankets and stepped onto the telain. Legolas followed quickly.

Alcanor stood straight. He had had his forearms placed on a big wooden table in the middle of the room where maps and lists were scattered; he was leaning on his forearms while staring at the map as if it had done great personal harm to him.

He raised his eyebrows at the newcomers, but they fell as soon as Legolas pushed his hood back.

"Tithen-las", he smiled gently. _Little leaf._ "What are you doing here?"

"It is nice to see you too, Al", Legolas replied softly and Alcanor glared angrily at him for the use of this terrible nickname. His name was Alcanor, not Al, for crying out loud! Thranduil surely put some thought into his name, there was no reason to mess it up like that!

"My name is not Al but –"

"Alcanor, yes I know, muindor. Yet my name is Legolas and no one ever bothers with that either", Legolas grinned widely and Alcanor growled. _Brother_. "As for what I am doing here: No, you cannot return to the stronghold just yet, I am sorry. I am not your replacement but I am leading a patrol for our king. We are to clear the area south from here, drive the darkness back. There are four other patrols, each thirty warriors strong along the southern border. We are to go south the day after tomorrow, setting out with the sun's first light. We will clear the forest for thirty miles and hold the area for the reminder of the month. If we cannot hold it we will fall back to here, however the goal is to permanently drive the sickening Darkness back and expand our borders once more and try to cure the Shadowed trees." While Legolas was speaking he stepped closer to the table and pointed of different places of the map to indicate where the other patrols were at the moment and how Legolas and Eriandras were going to proceed. Alcanor stepped next to him, a worried expression on his face.

"Are you sure this is a wise idea? The forest is infested thoroughly. I doubt we could drive the Darkness back. We can hold the borders here easily without losing lives. No attack comes with a warning and we feel how the darkness is effecting us here, it will worsen with each step you take south. It is a sickness which is infesting the trees and it is attacking your inner light. You might not feel it within the first few days or weeks, but it does hurt and make you feel sick to stay here for a long duration. And the trees will not aid even you, Tithen-las. They are wicked, cruel creatures who have nothing in common with their light brothers anymore." _Little leaf._

"It does not matter what I think. The king commanded it and I will obey him. I do trust his judgement", Legolas replied, his eyes fixed on the map. His voice was barely above a whisper and he bowed his head. Before Alcanor could put a comforting hand on his back, Legolas straightened himself and shock his head as if to rid himself of these thoughts.

Eriandras stepped next to the two princes and after drawing the conversation back to the task at hand, they discussed the best way to enter the land behind the borders of the elven Realm.

They talked until the sun rose and green light fell down on the elves. Mist rose as the wet fabric dried in the warmth. Eriandras excused himself and left to find some sleep. Legolas sighed tiredly and leaned heavily against the table.

"Care for a drink?" Alcanor offered and held a wooden cup in front of Legolas face. Suddenly noticing how thirsty he was, Legolas took the offered drink and downed it quickly.

"Have you seen Roewen at the palace?" Alcanor asked carefully.

"No, I haven't. But she wasn't due to return anyway. How long has it been since you last saw her?" Legolas frowned and felt sorry for his brother.

"Ten weeks? Ada promised he would find a way to make sure we will all be in the palace for the spring festival", Alcanor answered.

"What is so important about the spring festival?"

"I have asked Roewen to marry me and she agreed. We wanted to marry shortly after the spring festival. I am sorry I did not tell you earlier, but I did not get to see you before I had to leave. Everyone else knows already, I thought they had told you." Silver eyes were slightly glazed over and a distant smile set on full lips as Alcanor thought about his fiancée.

Legolas drew him into a brisk hug, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"I am happy for the two of you. You make a fine couple and she will make a great Queen one day."

They spent another hour talking to each other before Legolas went to find some sleep. He carefully rested his head against the dark, rough bark of the tree, eyes towards the roof of dark leaves above him as they glanced over to allow his mind to drift into the Realms of elven sleep.

* * *

Legolas pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, effectively hiding the golden hair and his inner glow, which seemed bright in the almost perfect dark under the cruel trees of the southern part of Mirkwood. They had another hour before sunrise and he was sitting with his patrol high in the trees' branches. They spoke softly to each other. Some elves of Alcanor's patrol had joined them. They went over their plan once more, ensuring they indeed had everything they needed. The sun had still not risen then they finished, however there was no point in waiting longer, so Legolas rose to his feet and turned to his warriors. He did not say anything however they stood as one person.

"Let us go", he whispered just loud enough for the keen elf ears to pick up the sound. "And let us take back land once part of Greenwood the Great and show our friends of old how freedom is supposed to feel." A breath of royalty surrounded the tall form of the warrior, his blue gaze clear and sharp, his long golden hair securely held back by fine, elegant warrior braids, his angular face showing confidence and determination, his lips set in a firm line.

They set out without looking back. The darkness of the night deformed the trees into lurking monsters, bowed under the weight of the air and crippled under the cruel coldness of the sunless sky. It had nothing to do with the Darkness of Evil, as it was not strong enough to invade the forest that fully, yet Legolas mind still made the non-existing connection. Carefully they moved further away of the well-protected border and Legolas could feel the trees shifting nervously. However, he still flinched as suddenly an old, powerful tree forced some words of warning through the darkening bark.

"Yrch, _calad-amdir_!" _Orcs, light-hope!_

Instantly Legolas stopped, hissing a short order. Those of his patrol who were Silvan had already stopped while their weapons had found their way into the hands of the woodelves. They too had heard the warning and the Sindar quickly understood what was going on, even though their connection to nature was not strong enough to pick up the words.

Legolas could hear the roaring of a nearby river, masking all sounds. The tall warrior closed his eyes, concentrating on the world around him, his spirit carefully brushing against the dimmed mind of the old tree. However it was not his connection with nature that made him open his eyes and hurry in one direction, but a screeching sound his pointed ears had picked up at the same moment as Merion, a silvan archer with long blond hair and dark eyes. The others followed on their heels as they hurtled through the branches which had become harder, the bark darker and sharper, trying to slow them down while leaves were cutting into their naked skin like tiny knives.

Finally the noise drew nearer and Legolas made some short hand signals everyone understood perfectly. While Merion and Legolas moved closer towards the orcs, Eriandras took over command of the other elves.

Legolas moved carefully, his footsteps soft. He ducked low, his bow in his tight grip and an arrow already notched. Out of the corner of an eye he could see Merion drawing his hood closer around his bright hair before he too notched and arrow. Leaves rustled softly as they made their way through them, unnoticeable above the roaring of the river and the cruel laughter of the orcs. The Prince quietly jumped to another branch several meters away, landing quietly without the orc underneath him noticing a thing. Merion had moved out of Legolas' line of sight, but he knew him close by.

The orcs were scattered under the trees, some gathered around a fire frying some greyish meat on sticks. The morbid smell entered Legolas' nose and he oppressed a gag. Another group of the cruel beasts were standing in a circle, two especially big orcs fighting under the excited, foul laughter of their comrades. The dark foliage of the trees hid most of the sunlight, yet most of the orcs still seemed exhausted and pained by the soft rays of sun burning the deformed skin. They lay unmoving on the ground, the dim light successfully draining their bodies of its energy. Oh, this was why Legolas really did not mind orcs. During the day they were weak. He softly counted under his breath while moving around in the trees. Only seventy-three orcs. As his patrol consisted of thirty elves, including himself, and they were all armed with bows which arrows never missed their targets, they should not have the slightest problem with this pack. Therefore, Legolas returned back to the others in order to command an attack to take the beasts out, quickly and quietly.

* * *

**Please Review!**

**Thank you Jaxzan Proditor!**

**greeniest fury:** You are welcome to leave a Review even then I post the correct chapter ... :) But thanks for telling me, I clicked on the wrong button.

**SaphiralovesTolkien: **Yeah, wrong chap, sorry. Thanks for leaving another Review for the correct chap though :) I really didn't want a stupid elf on the throne who throws a tantrum every five minutes. He is not as wise as Elrond, but he is not a complete idiot with no self-controll either. Oh, and you are welcome to finish this Story as you apparently know how it is going to ego on :D I got some twists in it to make it interesting, so please Keep reading.

**carolzacos:** Thank you very mch! I am glad you appraciate my Version of Thranduil. It was very important to me to portay him like in the movies without making him an emotionless bastard

**J. Salus:** Thank you mellon-nin. I hope you Keep track of this Story :)

**Toraach:** Eyaenne was severly injured,however she survived. . But noone in Rivendell knows she is still alive: They think she is dead.

**Sadie Sil:** Thank you. I am glad you like it

**allee8246:** Sorry i deprived you of your sleep. thank you so much for your Kind words: They motivate me greatly. I am happy People like my OCs for I really like them :D

**scathach47**: Haha, I am glad you liked it and I hope I am able to make your day more often :)

**Smileyfaceofevil:** \- This is a pretty awesome Name by the way :D . I try my best updating on a regular Basis, but Mew Zealand is not exactly known for ist good Internet Connection. I am glad you are enjoying this Story

**bettsam0731**: Why does Legolas always get injured in all the fanfiction? He never gets injured in either book or movie (nose bleeding does not Count) so why? O.o


	10. 10: Signs of Affection

** I want to thank those of you who keep sending me positive Reviews with questions, remarks or telling me what I might want to change (and those people have not asked me to change the entire plot) or when I did mistake. I really appreciate it,guys, and you are the only reason I keep writing this. You guys are making my day!**

**A big thanks to my beta-Reader Jaxzan Proditor, who motivated me and gave me new ideas when I did not know how to continue.**

**Now, finally, ENJOY!**

* * *

It was only a matter of minutes to kill the dumb beasts. Arrows hailed down to pierce their flesh, burying themselves in eyes, throats and chests, killing within the blink of an eye. Before the orcs could fully react, another hail of arrows followed, leaving only few to get clumsily on their feet; grasping at their weapons which were useless against the foes in the trees. Legolas already swept down to retrieve his arrows, killing one of the remaining orcs in passing. Suddenly Learon hissed angrily.

"What is it, Laeron?" Legolas whispered, quickly walking from carcass to carcass; pulling arrows out of dead flesh and roaming the shadows at the same time with his blue gaze.

"Spiders!" the young warrior hissed back, fear etched in his voice. Now Legolas heard it too, a soft clicking barely audible above the roaring river.

"Kill them!" Legolas ordered hoarsely, still pulling arrows out of motionless orcs. The next orc he came to was still alive, black blood sputtering over torn lips. Without hesitation Legolas took the arrow embedded in its chest, tore it out and drove it through the creature's eye effectively smashing the thin bone behind it and driving the steel arrow head into the orc's bitter excuse of a brain. He then added the arrow to the others in his left hand.

The dangerous clicking of Spiders moved closer and closer and Legolas quickly jumped into the trees. Hands reached out and took arrows back, however all eyes were fixed on the dark green foliage of leaves in the direction the noises were coming from.

"Eriandras" Legolas whispered and gestured for his second in command to take some of the warriors and hide deeper in the trees, while he took the other warriors and they positioned themselves so the Spiders would sense them immediately, following their sense of smell. The clicking grew louder and without further warning spiders suddenly descended on them from above. Legolas cursed, jumped to the side and let an arrow fly. The next moment he slung his bow back on his back while reaching for his twin knives. The warriors next to him acted the same way without needing instructions or looking towards their Prince, as they were very used to dealing with spiders. While the group fought the spiders with their deadly blades, Eriandras and the rest continued shooting from behind, blinding the spiders as they barely got a free shot to harm the soft underside.

Legolas plunged his knives into the exposed flesh of the nearest spider, immediately backing away as another landed, replacing the body, which fell out of the branches, its dead weight hitting the forest floor with a smack. The new spider's stinger shot forward, only missing the agile elf because the prince leapt to the right. One of his twin knives was pushed back into its scabbard just in time for Legolas to use his now free hand to hold onto the branch before him. His muscles protested weakly - it was the arm he had injured in his last patrol - as they suddenly had to hold his weight. A groan escaped Legolas lips, however he ignored the pain and pulled himself upwards. He dodged a stray arrow with the knife in his other hand. The warrior balanced on the branch, quickly locating the nearest threat. A spider was on its way to attack Merion who was focused on the opponent in front of him. Legolas jumped and landed on the hairy body of the spider, causing it to hiss angrily. He drove his blades into a soft spot in the spider's neck, cutting through the nerves and successfully eliminating the threat. Before he could crash to the forest floor, Legolas once more jumped, landing softly on another branch. The dark tree tried to make him fall by turning his branch under Legolas' feet as the prince landed, but the warrior reacted quickly and shifted his weight with ease. He dodged a spider's sharp fangs, ducked under another pair of glinting blade-sharp legs, tried to slice the spiders flesh but stone hard legs parried his blow. He backed away before leaping forward skillfully, jumping over the spider's body just to land behind her and to throw his knives forward in a well-trained movement, embedding the blades in the flesh just underneath the hairy legs. Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed and pushed down and he did not fight back, realising the rough pressure was coming from an elven hand. Merion coughed for air next to him as a spider managed to hit him square in the chest with one of its legs. The leather armour saved the elf from further injuries for now. The brown body seemed to be towering over them, its shadow falling upon the two blond elves. Legolas forcefully pushed Merion off the branch, hoping the elf would catch his breath fast enough to stop his descent through the twigs underneath him or to at least land on his feet instead of crashing into solid floor. Meanwhile Legolas himself rolled to his side, avoiding the dangerous stinger by clinging on the branch using it as a shield. He felt his rucksack slide over his shoulder. One of the leather straps had snapped sometime during fighting and until now Legolas had not even noticed. He should have dumped the pack right before the fight, however he had not really had the time to place it somewhere safe. As soon as the spider retaliated to give it another go, Legolas pulled himself back on his feet, dancing forward in a flurry of silver blades and finding his way through the defenses of the animal, killing it swiftly.

Legolas spun around, his knives in front of his chest, ready to face yet another foe. However this seemed to be unnecessary. Eriandras and Learon were going up against one of the biggest spiders together, Neliell was pushing another dead body off the branches, Ferienne was hurrying to Jarans' side, Leras helped a shaking Merion to his feet and Cyras was carefully eyeing his surroundings in a similar pose as Legolas was at the moment. After a last glance around, the young blond warrior dared to lower his weapons, however he kept them in a tight grip, not returning them into their sheathes on his back just yet. He jerked his arm up to get the pack with his provisions back on his back instead of having it dangling in the crook of his arm.

"Merion?" he asked softly, quickly descending to the ground. The forest floor was scattered with corpses, both orcs and the giant massive boulders of the spiders. "Are you all right?" He had not seen whether or not the silvan elf had managed to land softly.

"I am fine. Just a bit shaken", the young elf admitted quietly under his breath. Legolas nodded satisfied and tilted his head back to gaze into the trees above them. The other elves were slowly coming closer; some of them had been drawn far away while fighting. A smirk played proudly around Legolas' lips as he realised they had eliminated both threats without any of them getting so much as a scratch. Some bruises, but no blood. However he felt tiredness lurking in the back of his mind and weighing his limbs.

* * *

"What about this colour? It is a bit softer and not as bright", Eyaenne suggested, holding beautiful light blue fabric in her arms, the silky material reflecting the sun and shimmering like the stars. She was standing in a brightly lit room and around her were many different roles of fabric displayed. The room was a controlled mess. Drafts scribbled on pieces of parchment were lying around on top of the different fabrics. Colours seemed to vibrate in the bright light falling through the big, glassless windows and a soft wind was shuffling through the paper now and then. Eyaenne jumped excitedly to another fabric, careful to not step on the precious material on the floor. She kneeled down next to it and held the light blue cloth in her arms next to the dark blue one on the floor. The two colours were perfect together and the beautiful elven maiden lifted her head, a thrilled expression adorning her fair features as she smiled broadly.

Roewen laughed loudly. Eyaenne seemed completely out of place in this room, clad in her heavy armour and with her weapons still on her body. Never before had she realised that this female warrior could be so girlish. Happy like a child, excited and enthusiastic, the woman had barged into her room to grab her wrist and to pull her through half the castle as soon as the healer's had made sure that the small cut over her cheekbone, which was still oozing blood, did not contain any poison. She now was kneeling among beautiful fabrics after she had declared she would not rest until they had found the perfect fabric for Roewen's wedding dress and Alcanor's wedding tunic. Roewen looked upon the two fabrics and she had to agree with her soon-to-be sister-in-law. It was gorgeous and the two colours matched perfectly. Adoring the soft fabric she kneeled next to Eyaenne, feeling her sharp gaze on her as she rubbed the cloth between her thumb and index finger. It was smooth as water, soft and silky.

"I quite like these ones. The dark blue for my dress and Alcanor's trousers, the light blue for his tunic", Roewen admitted, amazed as she realised she was soon to marry her loved one. A wide grin spread over her face and her eyes took a faraway look as she remembered Alcanor's smooth features, the dark ring of his soft laughter, his strong body pressed against hers than he kissed her with passion, promising so much more.

"I like them too. The stitching's on Al's tunic could be made in the same dark blue", Eyaenne said, looking back down on the silk between her fingers. As she realised that Roewen wasn't listening but instead staring dreamily into thin air, she huffed irritated. She snapped her fingers in front of Roewen's face.

"Hey! Focus! I can't endure your lovesick facial expression!" she acted angered, but her silver eyes betrayed her amusement. "You will have my brother all for yourself very soon. It will only be a matter of time until we have little elflings running around the castle again, messing everything up. Legolas will be happy to chase them through the halls and I will be kidnapping them as soon as I return from patrol, but until when: The wedding! Should we have another look for other fabrics or are you already absolutely sure you want these?"

Roewen laughed softly at the enthusiasm of her friend and focused back on her wedding dress. Neither of the two young woman noticed the slim yet muscular elf leaning against the frame of the door. Silver-blond hair fell down over rich silver fabric, which tightly hugged broad shoulders. Tears fell silently over porcelain skin as Thranduil watched his daughter help his son's fiancée with her wedding preparations. His oldest son was getting married! To him it felt as if it was just yesterday when he first held Alcanor, a tiny babe, cradled in his arms. He had been so small and Thranduil had been positively terrified to hold his son, for he had been sure he was going to do something terribly wrong and therefore break the little precious bundle in his arms.

Since then, he had watched his son growing into a formidable warrior, a gentle, yet determined, brave man, ready to defend his homeland. There was nothing Thranduil regretted so much than the fact that he had had to force Alcanor to become a warrior instead of a healer, as the young elf's heart wanted to be. He had watched Alcanor growing into a caring man who would be a dedicated and loving husband. And now his son was ready to leave Thranduil's protective guidance and start a family on his own. Thranduil's heart burned. It felt as if Roewen was taking his son away from him and he would never get him back. Alcanor would never again be _his_ baby.

What hurt even more was the fact that he found himself unable to show his son how happy he was for him. To show him how much he was loved and how proud Thranduil was of him. He had tried, Valar, he had tried! Yet whenever he opened his mouth, the words just would not leave his tongue. Thranduil knew he had failed. Had failed as a father. He had not just failed Alcanor, but he had failed all of his children, he still did. Most of all, he had failed Legolas, his youngest. The blond prince had been too young to have any memory of Thranduil before the death of his Queen, had grown up with a bitter, cold, grieving man as his father.

How long would it be until all his children had left him? How long would it be until Thranduil would be utterly alone? His chest burned with a fire fiercer than the biggest balrog, his heart being torn apart. He was happy, truly, genuinely happy for his son to have found the person he wanted to share his life with. Valar, he remember how he had felt the day he married Luineth! But the pain in his chest was impossible to ignore.

Roewen would make Alcanor happy. They loved each other deeply.

Thranduil suddenly became aware of the tears on his cheeks, the same moment Eyaenne suddenly rose her eyes. The silver eyes of his daughter bore in Thranduil's blue ones and Eyaenne's smile vanished in the blink of an eye, being replaced by deep worry.

"Ada?" she whispered and Thranduil could only nod, unable to stop his tears. She jumped to her feet, the fabric sliding to the ground. Roewen still kneeled on the floor but she had turned around to him and a worried frown had claimed her forehead.

Eyaenne took a tentative step forward and then her father did not flinch but remained where he was, she came closer.

"Ada?" she asked fearfully. She rose her hand and Thranduil felt her palm against his cheek, her thumb softly caressing the tears away. He gently leaned into the touch.

"Are you all right, Ada?"

Thranduil opened his mouth to ensure her he was fine, yet once more his lips just refused to form the words.

"Ada! You are scaring me!" Eyaenne admitted, tears letting her silver eyes shine and blue eyes widened in wild panic. He was scaring his daughter! The king raised his hand and touched his daughter's arm, grasping her softly. The young woman took the invitation and leaned forward, wrapping both arms around her father. Thranduil pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I love you so much, iell-nin", Thranduil surprised himself murmuring into his daughter's neck, tightening his arms around her trained body. _My daughter._ Eyaenne shivered and soon her body was shaking with sobs. She clung desperately to her father, her sobs growing louder and Thranduil became deeply disturbed: Had he said something wrong? Valar, his daughter was shaking in his arms and was undoubtedly unable to stand without his support! What the hell did he do wrong?

"I love you too, Ada, I love you too!" she finally said and Thranduil felt his tense body relaxing for he felt her laughter deep in his chest. "And Ada?"

"Yes?"

"Roewen is not going to take Alcanor away from you, Ada. He will still be your son, he will still love you!" she seemed to read his thoughts stepping back a bit, smiling even though the tear tracks were still very visible on her face.

"I am not the best father, am I?" Thranduil said sadly, forcing the words over his lips as they were weighing so heavily on them that he could barely breathe.

"I know you try as hard as you can, Ada. And I know you love us. But it feels so good to hear it and I know it was hard for you. Please do it more often, will you?" She was nearly begging him. Instead of answering he forced his body to raise his arms and to pull Eyaenne into another hug, carefully brushing over her long dark curls, so much like her mother's.

He then let go of her and was facing Roewen. He hesitated for a long moment, unsure if what he was going to offer would even be accepted, let alone appreciated. He just opened his arms, silently offering an embrace. The next second he stumbled back as Roewen crashing into him, accepting the hug with a fierce force. She was obviously aware how hard it had been for Thranduil to offer it to her, as she was not his child and even his children did not often receive warm hugs. Yet Alcanor was going to marry her and he _was_ happy for them.

He endured the embrace for several seconds but then he loosened his grip and Roewen took the hint. Thranduil abruptly turned and left the room, his robes sliding over the wooden floor behind him. He cleaned his face and felt the air vibrating in his chest. He felt lighter as he headed back to his study to tackle the enormous amount of paperwork that was waiting for him there.

* * *

**Please Review!**

**bettsam 0731: **Thank you very much for your kind words. And yes, Legolas will get hurt eventually, yet I had not planned to have him be as accident-prone as he is pictured in most fanfictions. He is a warrior and he does posses a brain and he is incredibly skilled.

**seth42: **Thank you very much for your encouragement! I am very glad you like the Story and I agree with you: There a so many fanfictions which do not Show the cultural diffrences between the difrent Realms, which is why I wanted to pronounce this in my own fanfiction.

**Scathatch47**: You got me wondering ... Elaine? Who / what is that? O.o :) Thank you for your Kind words though, they are highly appraciated.

**SaphiralovesTolkien: **Maybe you got words for Thranduil now? Let me know what you thought about this Scene :) I hope you liked it. And I hope the fight was t your satisfaction as well ;)

**wenduo: **Honestly, I have no bloody idea how old Legolas is. I do not recall enough about Middle-earth history to specify his Age, neither am I sure how you 'translate' elven Age into human Age. He would be about 19 in human years, I guess, old enough to have some experience, yet young enough to still stick very Close to his own Family and running to his father if he has Problems and not experienced enough to be used to pain and death. For the Noldor, they still do not know about Thranduil's youngest son and think Alcanor has a son named Tithenlas. :) Thank you very much for all of your Reviews, they are encouraging and they are the reason I Keep writing, so please, Keep reviewing!

**Sadie Sil:** Thank you very much about your Review. What do you think of Thranduil now?

**BadassArcherDaughter: **I am glad you like Al. (Yeah, you can just call him Al, but remember: He hates that!) I am actually quite happy that you say you did not love him at first sight, for I have been trying to give my characters some sort of 3 dimensional realism. They are not always Heros in White armour on top of a strong stallion, but they can be evil and cruel. They interact diffrently with diffrent People and Alcanor does fear the Noldor. He associates them with pain and in his eyes they tried to murder first him and then his beloved sister. He just hides his fear behind Anger and cruelty. And you do not give me ídeas, do not worry, I already have them. And those ideas are actually planned out and just waiting to come along :) Though I hope you enjoyed my Thranduil, Roewen, Eyaenne Scene. Well, Legolas did not get injured YET, but it will happen eventually. Though I got loads of stuff planned before/during that. You gonna hate me :D :D :D  
I have no ideas if they have talans, though it makes sense I guess. They are woodelves, they live in the trees, and even the Sindar living in Greenwood/Mirkwood are much closer to the trees than Noldor or Vanyar. Also, I guess Mirkwood is a dangerous place. Being in the trees at least protects you of orcs and some other dangerous animals, does it not?

**allee8246:** I guess you see that Thranduil DOES care, but as you said, he is having an awefully hard time showing it! I hope I can tear you out of your boring life for a bit, and never Forget: Life is bloody AWESOME! Enjoy every second of it (I am happy to help with that :) )

**Dragon flame: **Thank you sooo much! I feel so honoured you compare this to 'All that remains'. I love that fanfic! Also thank you for your Kind words! And, as I said to bettsam0731, yes, Legolas will get injured eventually, though not next chapter, but I promise I ut something in for you Little sadistic People in chapter 12. Just for you. I am even changing the plot sligthly so you can have your injured Legolas. Silly People :D (I usually like to see him injured too, though I do not want him to be as accident-prone as some fanfics make him be, Therefore the delay until he actually gets injured. He is a skilled warrior with a working brain)

**FP3:** I got some evil plans with Alcanor, sorry *evil grin* (he is not going to die ( ... at least I think not ...) , so please Keep reading) Thank you for your Kind words as well, I did not expect so many People telling me haters are idiots and it is highly appreciated! Thank you so much, please Keep reading and leave me some Reviews :D

**camilleCS: **Thank you very much for your compliments! I really wanted Legolas to be a string, yet Young character. He is not indestructable, but he is skilled and is in possesion of a functional brain. He deserves his Position in the patrol for he has proven his ability to lead and he did not just inherit the title because he is a bloody prince. And he does not Need saving every two seconds.  
I hope you liked that Thranduil part in this chapter, let me know what you think!  
AND YES; YES YES You are so bloody right! I hated that they just had to take Tauriel and put a bloody fucking love Story behind it! What the hell! Roewen will always be a strong, Independent woman who will fight without having to ask Alcanor for permission and she will never be a weakling, ever! Alcanor and her are both great warriors who understand what it means to fight and to suffer. And about the wedding ... well, let's see. hehe  
There will be some Rivendell in the next chapter, so look out for that :)


	11. 11: The effect of Darkness

**Just as a reminder: The elves in Imladris still think Eyaenne died. They never found out she recovered and therefore assumed she passed and noone thought about informing them. Just so that you do not get confused if the Noldor speak about Eyaenne as a dead Person, she is not dead!**

* * *

Glorfindel and the twins were riding side by side, bows in their hands. Their quivers were filled with arrows with white fletching on their backs. They had planned to go for a hunt to get some deer for Elrond's table.

Elrohir's face bore a frown, as it had ever since the incident which had cost the life of Princess Eyaenne Thranduiliell. He had yet to find joy in his life again. It still happened that Elladan woke because of his brother screaming at top of his lungs, caught in a nightmare, jerking underneath the silken covers, sweat upon his wise brow and fear etched in his face. Eyaenne's beautiful face, distorted in pain and accusation, haunted his dreams and the pain in his heart just would not lessen. After the younger twin had woken he would tremble in his brother's arms until his soft sobs subsided and he fell back to sleep. For a while Celebrian and Elrond had feared that Elrohir was going to fade. Elladan on the contrary had gotten angry at his parents for thinking this and had stayed at his brother's side, trying to sooth his soul ache. Elladan had succeeded, the nightmares had lessened over time and Elrohir had at least returned to eat normally and to speak, something he had refused doing for several years. Yet the guilt still weighed heavily upon the young shoulders and so it would for the rest of his life.

When Roewen had come to Imladris to deliver the message of Greenwood's fall, she had not spoken with the younger twin, refusing to even look him in the eye. Neither had she with Elladan for she was unable to tell the two apart. However she had not once incriminated him but instead pointed out that it had been the Princess's fault as well, as she had allowed him to kiss her instead of pushing him away. That was all she had said about the late Thranduiliell.

Roewen had not stayed long: The Silvan slept for several hours high in the branches of one of the oldest trees in Imladris, refusing to even enter the Last Homely House. She had then taken care of her injured arm before taking some provisions and leaving without another word, all questions unanswered for she left in the dead of the night.

Now Elrohir sat proudly atop his horse, the angry scowl fixed and his eyes hurrying through the trees. There were no orcs in the hidden valley, yet Elrohir had promised himself to never again lower his guard if he was not in the safety of either Imladris or Lórien. Elladan and Glorfindel were quietly conversing with each other, deciding in which direction to go.

"Did you hear that?" Elrohir asked, his sword in his hand. Glorfindel flinched and his hand flew towards the hilt of his weapon, however it remained there it was.

"Someone is whistling" he replied, his head inclined to the side. After some more seconds, his eyes widened with joy, before narrowing dangerously with silent anger. "It is Mithrandir." He spurred his horse towards the soft whistling of an ancient voice.

Leaves rustled and the heavy hooves of his proud steed tormented the hard earth beneath them, causing it to shiver under the thunder. Glorfindel's long mane rushed after him like a pennant of liquid gold. The twins followed the balrog-slayer without another word. Joy stood in Elladan's eyes, while Elrohir seemed as troubled as ever. Maybe Mithrandir, the wise wizard, would be able to help the younger twin. It had been several centuries since the grey wanderer had last entered the Hidden Valley and Elladan had dearly missed his council, as did Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel.

"You are late, Mithrandir!" Glorfindel stated almost coldly as he stopped his horse before the wagon of the wizard.

"A wizard is never late", Gandalf began his well-known sentence. "Nor is he early. He arrives precisely –"

"No, mellon-nin, this time not. You are late. Centuries late. Where have you been? We were in desperate need of your council. We rode out to Rohan and Gondor, we went to the Golden Woods and the Brown Lands, we even entered the land of the Halflings in the east, yet you were nowhere to be found. Saruman was called to the Iron Hills and we were unable to reach him until this day. So tell me: Where have you been, while Middle-Earth as we know it has changed so drastically?"

"I have been in the North, with the Dunédain, helping them to build a base. But my dear Glorfindel: What has shaken the world so deeply to leave the mighty Lord of Gondolin so shaken? I have not heard of any threats to Middle-Earth."

"Come with me. We shall speak in Imladris", Glorfindel sighed suddenly tired. "And forgive me my brisk welcome. I am glad you are here."

"Elladan, Elrohir, the young Lords of Imladris!" the old man said, inclining his head. "How do you fare?"

Elrohir just shot the wizard whom he had known all his life, a short, pained look, before giving his horse the spurs and riding ahead, back towards Rivendell.

Elladan watched his brother go, sorrow in his clear eyes.

"I do not know", he replied to Mithrandir's question sadly. "I really do not know."

That was when the wise wizard finally realised that he had indeed missed something of great importance and a frown appeared on the wrinkled forehead while his eyes lost their amused twinkling.

* * *

Legolas frowned as his eyes watchfully followed a twig which danced upon the water of the powerful stream. It was small and dark, almost black leaves stabilized it on the silver surface. Something about the picture touched Legolas heart, however he would not find out, what it was.

"Yrch!" a female voice tore Legolas out of his thoughts. The young Prince wanted to curse, but he refrained and instead hurried elegantly towards the she-elf who had cried the warning. His bow quickly found its way into his hand and before the captain arrived next to the warrior maiden, she had already engaged into battle, sending arrows flying down. In return black quarrels were piercing the darkness next to them. Legolas' eyes widened as he just managed to turn his torso out of the way of one of the cruel bolts. He pressed himself against the trunk of a tree, leaning around it and firing arrows down at the group of orcs running through the trees. The moon was barely sending any light through the roof of dark leaves and Legolas was unable to distinguish how many of the cruel beasts were cowering in the dark. Concluding from the amount of bolts hitting tree trunks and branches there were many. An elvish cry made Legolas flinch violently and he turned his head quick enough to see Merion falling off a branch, a short quarrel buried deeply in his upper thigh. The elf's golden hair shone brightly with his elven glow. The elf managed to land on his feet, however his injured leg gave away underneath him and he fell to the floor. Before the orcs could approach him, arrows shot every nearing foe down, the elves in the branches desperately defending their injured comrade. Merion's face was a mask of pain as he tried to come back on his feet. He used his bow as a crutch.

Neliell and Ferienne left the trees, Jarans hovering above them shooting arrows with rapid pace. Neliell grabbed Merion's arm and pulled it over her shoulder, stirring him towards a near tree with low branches. Meanwhile Ferienne had exchanged her bow against a sword and killed the orcs the archers in the trees left for her. Legolas focused back on the orcs closer to him however still paying attention to what happened several meters away. Eriandras, who was closer to Merion, called soft orders and Legolas knew the situation under control as far as it was possible. A movement in the darkness caused Legolas to let another arrow fly and the loud screech which followed told him he indeed had hit another orc.

Legolas shot arrow after arrow, meanwhile one eye on Merion and Neliell as they struggled to climb the tree. Just as he thought they would make it, wargs suddenly burst through the trees. Neliell abandoned Merion in favour for her sword and the elf staggered dangerously. Apparently the arrow had injured his muscle. Merion struggled to get his knives out of their sheathes, holding them in front of his body, forcing the pain down and standing on one leg. A warg came shooting in his direction and Legolas quickly shot an arrow towards the beast. It hit the broad chest the same moment as another arrow killed the orc on top of the animal, coming from another tree.

Merion dodged the blade of another orc coming too close and before any of the elves could jump to his aid, he stumbled and fell backwards. He tried to find his footing, but it was too late. The ground underneath his feet, dangerously close to the river edge, crumbled and with a chunk of earth the elf fell backwards into the wild torrents which tore him underwater almost immediately. His scream of utter horror was swallowed by the roaring waters.

Legolas felt his blood freeze as he heard the scream, dying abruptly. He heard elves yelling and his voice rang loudly above them all as he cried orders. Right now they needed to defend themselves and all they could do was to hope the river would carry Merion further downstream and allow him to climb on land there. The woodland-prince focused solemnly on the enemies on the ground, leaning sidewise to avoid a quarrel, reaching for another arrow and cursing softly under his breath as he noticed that his quiver was empty. Slinging his bow back on his back, he took his long ivory-handled knives. Warmth flooded through him the second he touched the soft surface and he felt his glow lighten up a bit for the reassuring feeling of the knives in his hands. The darkness was effecting him, he felt it in his heart, his soul, his fëa. Effecting him more than the other elves in his company. He had watched how his glow slightly dimmed over the course of the last week and it was not due to exhaustion which had claimed his body and held it in a tight embrace. The darkness was pressing heavily onto him and he now understood the words of warning his brother had sent him. He had never before been this close to the darkness and he began to fear what it could do to him. He suddenly felt so vulnerable. He heard the trees' angry whispers where even the other woodelves heard nothing. He could feel the trees' pain whenever one of the elves came to close, their agony ringing through his body. Too bright. The elves were too bright for the dark trees. Bright enough to hurt and Legolas was unable to shut these emotions out, they just kept tormenting his mind. His patrol too had noticed that something was wrong. Legolas Thranduillion was no longer the understanding, yet stern commander he used to be. He still was a good leader, but his posture had become cold, reminding them more and more of their beloved king, while his temper had become fierce like Alcanor's. He snapped at people without reason, spoke louder than necessary and kept jumping as if something was sneaking up on him. The abrupt change in their Prince's behaviour shocked them and many had come to Eriandras to voice their concerns.

A small smile crept on Legolas face as the warmth of his fëa intensified and he felt better than he had in days. He quickly descended down to the forest floor, finding himself back to back with Learon, next to Legolas himself the youngest elf. For a second he met brown soft eyes before they each focused on the opponents which kept storming towards them.

* * *

Alcanor jumped off his horse, gracefully landing and passing on the reigns to an elf already waiting. Silver hair played around the fair face of the Crown Prince. It only underlined the anger shining vividly in his bright eyes. There had been no further attacks since Legolas' patrol left and as much as Alcanor would usually appreciated the peace and quiet, this time it gave him way too much time to be brooding about the senseless mission his baby brother had been sent on. Reclaiming land of the Darkness! Only idiots could possibly come up with this idea! Chancellors and Ministers who had not held a sword in centuries and who had never experienced how the Darkness could press upon you like a heavy weight on your shoulders, how it drained you of your joy and how it stole the colours from the world. Each time Alcanor returned from his patrols – he always insisted on leading those closest to Dol Guldur, the origin of the evil power – he came back drained, easy to anger, his temper short and fierce and his mood darker than what was normal for him. He tried to control it, hiding it from his brothers and sisters. He was after all their big brother and he needed to protect them. He had long since found out that the other soldiers were not as affected by the Darkness as he was. He had spent many hours in the library, earning stern and confused looks from several Sindar, searching for a reason for that. Sindar mostly saw the perhereg as low as Silvans and Silvans did not trust in books or written words. Instead they only believed spoken words, myths and legends. Arahen, Eyaenne and Falin would both never touch a book and hated writing reports or notes for council meetings and would not accept written orders, a fact which was driving Thranduil mad. Daeros and Legolas were fine with books, though they did never relay on them, preferring spoken words to books and notes. Iarith was quite different. She loved books and her room looked more like a library than anything else. She even read books just for pleasure.

Alcanor did not like books, but as Crown Prince he was accustomed to them and Thranduil had made sure he did not dislike them too much.

He had finally decided it must be his closer connection with his surroundings which caused him to be so affected. The same connection which sometimes allowed him to hear people's thoughts as if they had spoken aloud.

Elves jumped out of Alcanor's way as he strode menacingly towards the throne room, frowning worriedly, barely paying attention to where his long strides were leading him. With his broad chest and slim waist, the leather armour hugging his body tightly, with the mud and the black orc blood sending dark shimmers over his otherwise clean armour and his weapons on his back he was a quite intimidating character.

He was deeply worried about these patrols and a small flame of anger burned in his chest. King Thranduil had ordered these patrols which, in Alcanor's eyes, were futile and deadly risky.

"Why do you linger in the shadows?" a deep, smooth voice tore him out of his thoughts, a voice of ethereal beauty with an almost bored ring to it.

Alcanor suddenly realised that his steps had carried him to his father's private quarters. The slim man was standing near the window, blue eyes gazing outside to watch the wind carrying late sunrays over the tree tops. Long, elegant fingers held a beautifully crafted crystal goblet filled with heavy red wine, its scent lingering in the air.

"I did not mean to come here", Alcanor admitted softly. The king nodded absent-mindedly before turning around to face his son. An elegant eyebrow shot upwards and his sharp eyes wandered over the Prince's clothing. He cocked his head to the side in apparent distaste and for the first time Alcanor realised even though as most elves he had managed to stay mostly clean during his weeks on patrol, his boots were coated in mud and water had seeped through the seams of his shoes. Dreading what he was going to see, he turned around only to notice he had left a trail of dirty water behind him.

"At least get out of your shoes", Thranduil demanded irritated, rolling his eyes ever so slightly before an evil smirk played around his lips. Alcanor suddenly felt like an elfling getting scolded by his father and he blushed furiously. Quickly he bent down to open his laces and pulling his feet out of the boots. He took his socks off as well and put them in the boots, leaving him barefooted, his trouser legs wet yet reasonably clean.

Thranduil's blue eyes were still searching Alcanor's face, yet the irritation had vanished only to leave an expressionless mask.

"What is bothering you, Al?" he asked softly and the Crown Prince flinched at the sound of his horrible nickname, eyes widening in surprise as he stared at his father.

"How did you just call me?" he asked, disbelief evident in his strong voice.

"Al", Thranduil answered flatly, but his eyes suddenly softened slightly.

"Not you too!" Alcanor moaned and he felt his Ada's hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The touch relaxed him immensely and freed him of an anxiousness he did not know possessed his body.

"Legolas and his patrol come through about a week ago", Alcanor started, carefully gauging the king's reaction to his words.

"You don't think venturing further south is a good idea", Thranduil stated, reading his son with the ease only a king and father could possible possess.

* * *

Please Review!

**wenduo:** In the movie, I really wanted Thranduil to damn hug his son! I so wanted to see them hug, man! I know what you mean. I tried to have Thranduil appear cold as in the movies, but for me it is impossible to imagine a father could not love his child, which is why I made Thranduil just unable to express his love.

**bettsam0731:** Thanks mate, I will go as I am able and correct it. Oh, and Legolas will get injured in the next chap ;)

**seth42:** Thank you so much! It means o me that you enjoy this Story so much! Thank you for your Support, it helps tremendously

**camilleCS:** Thank you so much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much. I just really hope I will not let you guys down, you seem to have so high expectations and most of the time I just have no idea what I am doing or there to go next :/ :D I will find a way though. Oh, and do not worry about over-reviewing, as I said before: To me, such a thing does not exist. I am happy about every review even if it is just a short sentence, but the long ones are the ones which help me most.

**allee8246:** You guys have no idea how much your support helps me, honestly. Reading your reviews warms my heart and makes me want to write more and write better. I am happy you like my Thranduil for I adore him pretty much ;) Legolas is getting injured next chapter, by the way J

**BadassArcherDaughter:** hehe, two weeks are way too little time if you got a writer's block mate J Thanks for your review, I am so glad everyone seems to improve of my OCs and of my Thranduil version. Let me know what you think about this chapter, will you, bro?

**FP3:** Thank you very much for your review. I can be quite a huggy person too, but only with my family. I hate hugging or even just touching strangers, but my family and close friends get more hugs then they deserve J I appreciate all reviews, even if they are short, so please, continue leaving them as it helps me greatly and makes me want to write more for my awesome reviewers J

**BellethielGreenleaf7:** Thank you very much for your review. I am glad you like this story and I hope you will continue reading it and leave reviews. They help me a lot even if they are just short notes. I hope you liked this chap as well. ;)

**Smileyfaceofevil:** It will take some more chapters before the wood elf ends up in Elronds healing ward, but it will happen eventually. Got some nice ideas until then *smileyfaceofevilgrins*

**SaphiralovesTolkien:** Thanks so much for your review ;) I am happy you guys like the fight and I hope including another fighting scene here was not too much. Let me know what you think, mellon :D

**Sadie Sil:** Thank you very much for continuing reading this story. It is not a match for yours, but I give my best and I really enjoy it. Thank you, my friend, thank you very much

**Ekzab2000:** Thank you. Happy you like this story and hope you will continue reading it and leaving reviews. Let me know what you thik of the new chap, mellon ;)

**Arabella:** Thank you. Happy you like this story and hope you will continue reading it and leaving reviews. Let me know what you thik of the new chap, mellon ;)


	12. 12: From the Frying Pan

**I know I took Ages and I am sorry but I had a writer's block. I will update the next chapter quicker I promise!**  
**Thanks for your Patience and enjoy!**

* * *

Suddenly Alcanor felt the anger in his chest flaring up.

"How could you!", Alcanor sneered before the king could even comprehend the change in the demeanour of his son. "How could you!" he yelled this time, his voice ringing loudly through the cavern. "How could you send Tithen-las-nin! How could you!" _My little leaf._ His dark voice had long since become an angry scream. "Do we not give enough? Do we not give everything we have already? I do whatever you command! Daeros has given up drawing his maps and traveling so he could pick up the sword and fight for our kingdom! Arahen stopped teaching the little elflings though he loved it so much, so he could help us defend this land. Falin spends more time on patrol than he does teaching his students and he gives his free time to help them improve their skills with knives. Belain, even Iarith is taking fighting lessons! And Legolas, he never had the chance to find out what he even wants to do because he is compelled to be our hope and to fight in the first bloody line! Have we not given enough? Now you had to send Legolas away, the one all of us are trying to protect from the sight of war as much as we can? Why do you think I choose to fight the most dangerous battles? So that he doesn't have to! Yet you send him South like a pig ready for slaughter, knowing he would never refuse you! He doesn't mean anything to you, does he? You feel _nothing_ for him! Noth-"

In his rage he had stepped closer to the king and now he was suddenly interrupted by a flaring pain in his cheek. He stumbled back his hand instinctively raising towards his reddening cheek. Shocked he looked up and found icy blue eyes storming in what seemed to be a mixture of shock and rage. Thranduil had hit him hard, unable to listen to the false accusations. Never before had he risen his hand towards any of his children, but this had just been to much! Of course he loved Legolas! A tear leaked out of his eye and Thranduil couldn't bother wiping it away, instead letting it run over his perfect cheek sparkling like a diamond. His heart screamed to him in anger that he had purposefully harmed Alcanor, yet another part of his heart only screamed that Legolas was his son, his baby.

"Alcanor", Thranduil acknowledged his son and suddenly the Crown Prince found all his anger draining out of his body. His father's voice was dark and soft, smooth as ever and of the eternal beauty of an elven voice. It had a prideful royal ring to it, one only ever to be found in a king's voice. "I am sorry. I did not mean to raise my hand against you. Forgive me!"

"It is all right. I guess I deserved it", Alcanor admitted, suddenly tired. He stumbled backwards until he found the stairs leading up to the King's study. He slumped down to sit on them, burying his face in his hands. Silver hair flooded over his fingers like a silken curtain, catching the light and reflecting it.

Thranduil hesitated, not knowing what to do, but when he remembered Eyaenne's words asking him to show his love for his children more often. Alcanor's pained words only made him realise how long it had been since he last reminded his children that no matter what, he would always cherish them and they would always live in his heart.

In a fluid motion Thranduil kneeled down in front of his oldest son, his long fingers carefully wrapping around slim wrists and pulling his hands down.

"I do love Legolas, never doubt that", was all he said, waiting for silver eyes to meet his blue counterparts.

"The Darkness is too thick. He will crumble under its weight. These patrols are doomed, Ada, all of them. The Darkness beyond our borders has become too powerful", Alcanor sighed tiredly, instinctively leaning forward until his head rested against Thranduil's shoulder. The rich fabric felt rough under his skin, but the familiar scent lingering lightly within the deep folds calmed Alcanor down completely and he closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He heard a light gasp coming from his father as he felt how the darkness, which had infested his body during the time of patrol and which had dimmed his elven light, left him. Once again he was pure and light, no Darkness holding onto his soul, innocent as a child. Long fingers suddenly carded carefully through his hair and he could hear Thranduil's quickening heartbeat.

"What was that, Alcanor?" he asked and for the first time in many years, his voice did not sound bored and distanced. Instead it was rough with an oppressed fear. "I could feel it." The distant tone returned to the king's voice. "I could feel the Darkness, here amidst the very heart of our forest! It was … in you!"

"I told you, the Darkness is stronger when you thought. It clings to your soul like a raging animal, ripping your heart apart. These patrols were a mistake!"

"Why did you let him go, if you are so confident he is running in his death?" Thranduil asked seemingly disinterested, however Alcanor had grown accustomed to the King's voice being devoid of emotions.

Alcanor remained silent, his brain silently repeating the question but not finding an answer. Why had he let him go? The only explanation he could come up with was, at the time, he did not consider the mission as dangerous as he did now. Yes, he had not been happy about it, but he had not realised the danger. He closed his eyes, praying to the Valar he had not allowed his brother to run into his death. He fell asleep within seconds, being held protectively by his father's strong arms.

"Alcanor?" Thranduil asked after several minutes not receiving an answer. He leaned down to glance into Alcanor's eyes as the prince once more remained silent. Silver eyes were staring into the distance, elven sleep clouding the sparkling of life. Disbelieving Thranduil stared at the son in his arms, before a smile spread over his face. He carefully stood, taking the limp body in his arms. He carried the sleeping prince over to his own bedchamber, settling him in his bed before drawing the covers around the strong form. He placed a soft kiss on Alcanor's forehead, before he silently left.

* * *

_Greenwood the Great has fallen. We hold Mirkwood, Realm of King Thranduil. Do not enter Mirkwood, for darker things lurk there than the king's wrath and the ire of its people._

_Prince Falin Thranduillion_

Gandalf stared at the message Elrond had presented him.

"Greenwood the Great has fallen", he read the first few words out loud and he felt how fear gripped his heart. Greenwood the Great had fallen? Greenwood the Great, home to many of the most skilled warriors he had ever met, home to a people so skilled with bow and arrow they had no match in all of middle-earth, except maybe Lord Glorfindel? Greenwood the Great, the home of the wood elves, who were considered dangerous and wild even amongst their own kin?

"Mithrandir?" Elrohir asked.

"Have you offered help to King Thranduil?"

"Noldor are no longer welcome in Mirkwood, mellon-nin. We dare not enter the forest, for we have been threatened with war and death." _My friend._

"Thranduil forbade you to enter Greenwood?"

"We started patrolling the western border of Greenwood as soon as we heard of Darkness closing in. Though we were not welcomed, we were left in peace. That was until we were in need of aid. Crown Prince Alcanor, Princess Eyaenne and their patrol came to our aid and saved our lives. They granted us entry in their forest so we could heal our wounds before returning to Imladris. Yet, in a spider attack, Princess Eyaenne was killed." Glorfindel began to fill the Istar in.

"It was my fault", Elrohir admitted softy. "I kissed her in the middle of the battle and she was killed. Prince Alcanor rightfully blamed me for her death and was about to execute all of us to revenge her. The only reason we are alive is because his son, Tithenlas, spoke in our favour. He was only a boy of a few years, yet Alcanor seemed to trust his word. Instead of executing us, he scarred Glorfindel and me, before letting us go." Elrohir opened his shirt to show the Istar the two letter shaped scars.

"Alcanor Thranduillion", he explained bitterly as to the meaning of said letters.

"You see, Mithrandir; We cannot enter the forest to offer help. And Thranduil would never accept it anyway. In his eyes we tried to murder his oldest son and after that succeeded in murdering his oldest daughter. He has no reason to trust us and though I loath the situation, I understand his perspective. I would not trust myself either, had I been in his stead", Elrond replied thoughtful. "We need your wisdom, Mithrandir, for mine has come to an end. I find myself unable to see what the future may bring, so is the Lady Galadriel failing to see what is happening in the forest kingdom. It is as if Mirkwood has been erased from the face of Middle-earth's future."

Mithrandir took his pipe out and the elves watched the seemingly old man silently, as he lit the tobacco. Normally they would have objected against the awful habit of smoking, but this time they remained silent.

* * *

Legolas run through the trees, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He felt his blood in his neck and in the cut on his left lower arm, but he bore it no mind. The orcs had retreated, however it had been a hard fight and the elves had been tired. Now, no one was without injury. Minor injuries, yes, but blood had been spilled nonetheless and it was weakening the already tired bodies. Almost half of the elves had been poisoned and they had been lucky that apparently the poison had already dried on the tips of the quarrels. Therefore only a small amount of the poison had entered the bloodstream and the effected elves had already taken the anti-venom.

They needed to find Merion and then return behind the safety of Mirkwood's borders as quickly as possible. Legolas knew he could not take any more, nor could the warriors under his command. Reclaiming this land would need a lot more warriors than he had, more than Mirkwood could spare.

"We need to find Merion", Legolas stated and came back to his feet. He noticed the worried glance of his second in command and leaned closer to explain what just happened.

They followed the river, eyes fixed on the dark, turbulent waters and the muddy banks, searching for signs for Merion. Legolas grew more and more worried about the blond warrior as they hurried downstream without a sign of the elf. They were going further and further south, away from Mirkwood's borders and deeper and deeper into the Darkness. He stopped abruptly as he spotted yet another band of orcs, signaling the elves behind him to do the same. They held their breath and hid silently among the sharp bark and the thorn-like leaves, until the orcs had passed.

"Eriandras", Legolas whispered sharply. The elf hurried next to him, leaning in so that his ear was almost touching Legolas lips, allowing the captain to speak as silently as possible.

"We go two more miles, when we will turn back. I do not dare to wander further south." His soft voice was filled with worry and reluctance. Eriandras nodded in understanding.

Just as he turned his head, something caught his eye. In the next moment he jumped down, not noticing the sudden look of shock appearing on Eriandras face. His long legs carried him over a thick carpet of needles and dirt on the forest floor, over to the river edge. Clinging on a branch, Merion had his head bowed, trying to blend in with the river edge. His brown clothing and the muddy water along with the crepuscular light made him nearly invisible.

"Merion!" Legolas said softly, worry lacing his voice. The elf moved his head and a smile spread over his lips as he spotted his commander. Wordlessly he let go of the branch with one hand and reached for Legolas' outstretched one. In this moment Legolas' pointy ears picked up on a familiar, yet horrid sound: The sound of a quarrel rustling through the air. Oh, how he hated orcs, he just hated them! Legolas turned his body, trying to protect Merion knowing that he could neither stop the quarrel nor move out of its way without exposing the already wounded and weak elf whom for he was responsible. Also he didn't have the time to do anything else. His body moved between the deadly bolt and the elf.

The moment their skin touched, excruciating pain shot through Legolas side. A yell escaped his lips and he yanked Merion up with a single pull, afraid the pain would overwhelm him and cause him to drop the injured elf. He stumbled backwards and with Merion's weight suddenly slumping against his chest – the missing elf had not expected to be pulled up this abruptly and the wound in his leg hindered him in staying on his own – Legolas fell backwards. The world blacked out around him as the bolt in his side was pushed deeper into his flesh until it was completely buried, the head sticking out on the other side, narrowly missing Legolas' inner organs.

Legolas was brutally torn from oblivion, he squirmed under the strong hands of elves, his face showing the pure agony he was feeling but surprisingly he kept his mouth shut. Even though his mind was clouded with pain, he sluggishly recalled there they were: South of the borders in the land of the enemy. He bit through his lip in his attempt to keep quiet and at the same time cursed the healer for not giving him a piece of wood to bite on. When the pain suddenly decreased his body went limp and he heaved with heavy breaths. Wind cooled the sweat upon his naked skin and made him shiver. He blinked, trying to push the pain back, but before he could recognize the faces of the elves around him a hand was pressed upon his wound and he closed his eyes. Blackness closed in and Legolas let himself fall towards it.

Eriandras looked worriedly down at his prince. The young elf was pale and sweat was upon his brow. His upper body was covered in bandages but the white was already turning red as it soaked the blood in. Legolas was in no condition to travel, yet they had to make haste and return to the relative safety of the borders. If they did not, they would all die. He picked up Legolas' bag and turned to Merion. Exhaustion was clearly written in the face of the elf. He had lost all his weapons in the torrent of the river and his shirt was nothing more than rags, cut into pieces by sharp rocks and roots. Blood was oozing out of an angry looking cut above his brow and he looked ready to drop dead.

The second in command waited until Merion had been taken care of before he handed Legolas pack and weapons towards the other elf.

"Use these. Legolas has as of now no use for them and you are in need of weapons and clothes. Legolas won't even be able to hold his knives, let alone draw his bow, yet your only hindrance is your leg. Take them", Eriandras demanded while at the same time convincing Merion that it was for the Prince's own good if Merion took his weapons. Slowly, the young elf nodded and awkwardly rose to his feet. Eriandras handed him Legolas' spare shirt and placed the elegant bow and the scabbards with the delicately crafted knives next to a tree. He then turned to talk with the uninjured part of the patrol, planning on returning as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Merion exchanged the rags with Legolas' light green shirt. The royal stitching around the neckline irritated him and made him feel uncomfortable because it clearly showed that these clothes belonged to a prince. However he understood that he needed clothes and it would be impractical for Legolas to wear his shirt at the moment anyway, because they had to be able to reach the bandages quickly. He took the precious weapons hoping he would not need them but at the same second realizing how unlikely that was.

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Gandalf stopped his horse and looked upon Greenwood the Great. It was always a breath taking view but this time his keen eyes noted that the trees in fact seemed more sinister and the entire forest seemed darker. Not Greenwood the Great anymore, was it? No, this indeed was Mirkwood. The wise wizard cursed the fact he had been unaware of the happenings in Middle-earth. How could this have happened? Normally a wizard felt when his council was needed and could come to aid, but this time, there had been no pull, no inner desire to return to Greenwood or visit Imladris.

He shook his head. For now he had to focus on how he could help the situation and speak with Thranduil. And he had to finally find out what really happened. He had learned little in Imladris and the Noldor elves were rightfully worried about the strained situation. Therefore the wise man spurred his horse and rode towards the forest. The branches were twisted and upon closing in he noticed the shape of the leaves had changed of the full lush green to dark, needle-like ones.

Mithrandir slowed down as he neared the elven path leading through Mirkwood. A giant wooden archway bid enter. A fountain directly behind it created the playful sound of drippling water which seemed hollow and creepy in the utter silence which reigned the trees behind. The marble path showed cracks and unlike in earlier days, leaves were hiding its pathway, obscuring it.

"Elves of Greenwood!" Gandalf shouted into the forest but silence was the only answer. With worry etched deeply into his forehead, the Istar dismounted and gripped his staff tighter as he entered the forest, stepping through the archway. Nothing happened and the visitor nodded grimly before rounding the fountain and striding deeper into the forest, ignoring lack of the beautiful sculptures as they were now hidden from sight by thick bushes and ivy.

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**Please Review!**

**Thanks to my beta reader Jaxzan Proditor**

**I will answer your reviews in the next chapter because I want to post this asap!**


	13. 13: Into the Fire

** I finally managed to update the next chapter. I am sorry for the Long wait! Sadly, I got a massive writer's block. However I promise I will not Abandon this Story, not ever! I swear I will finish it! Even if it takes longer than I had originally planned!  
**

**This is un-betaed so far, however I will update this chapter as soon as I got it betaed. **

**Thank you for your Patience. I truely hope you enjoy this chapter, it was extremly hard to write**

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Legolas woke slowly, the pain creeping into his consciousness giving him time to embrace it. He solely focussed on his breathing to make it shallow and even but still with every breath he took a million hot knives were smashed into his entire body. He felt his body moving rhythmically from one side to the other and he knew his elves were carrying his weight on an improvised stretcher. Shivers shook his body though a warm cape was draped around it. His mind was clouded in pain and he did not feel the hard wood underneath him supporting the stretcher and only softened by Eriandras' cape.

"Wa …" Legolas tried to speak and immediately the movement stopped, though the words had not even left his lips as a whisper but died in his throat. "Wa….", he tried again and an odd cracked sound left his lips. A warm hand appeared on his cheek and Legolas leaning subconsciously into the touch though Eriandras' whom the hand belonged to, did not even notice for the prince was so weak he could not even open his eyes.

"What do you need, Legolas?" he asked with hushed voice.

"Wa – er" Legolas finally managed to say. The hand immediately left his cheek, rummaging through the pack on Eriandras side and soon pulled a water flask out of it.

"Drink slowly, Legolas, carefully", the second in command ordered and helped the blonde to lift his head enough to swallow without choking. The cool water was more delicious than anything Legolas had drank before and it cooled and numbed at least the pain in his throat. Blue eyes opened and after blinking a few times the blurry darkness changed into dark leaves against a few bright sunrays breaking through.

"How bad is … is it?" Legolas choked pained.

Eriandras moved aside and Feriell the healer moved at Legolas side instead, having before held his left hand feeling for his pulse.

"It is pretty bad, my Prince. The bolt did go straight through your torso and the head was one of the orc's evil creations. It destroyed a lot of tissue. If it had damaged any more of your inner organs, we would have lost you within minutes. However the bolt head was poisoned and though the poison would normally be considered weak, your body cannot fight it! I cannot do much for you here, you need surgery."

"We are making haste to return behind the borders", Eriandras cut in. "We are at least a day's march away and the terrain is slowing us down further. We have had one more encounter with orcs after we set out."

"Merion …?"

"Is over there. His leg is injured but he will pull through. His wound is surprisingly clean even though he got dragged through mud and water. Feriell is keeping an eye on it but it seems his body can fight an infection before it even sets in. We have one bigger injury, Ferienne has a big slash in her arm and it is already infected and the poison in her system hinders his body to heal it. If her condition does not improve in the next five hours, Feriell has to amputate her arm if we want to keep her alive. She is being carried on a stretcher and sleeping right now."

"Make haste", Legolas spoke softly, before closing his eyes once more trusting his comrades to keep him safe on the dangerous way back and saving his strength.

The patrol moved slowly through the forest, the terrain slowing them down tremendously. They could not hurry through the boughs of the trees but had to make their way through thick under bush. Spider nets made many ways unpassable and with the injured elves on stretchers they were not able to face even a single spider so they had to avoid these areas altogether. Eriandras grew worried as the darkness started creeping under the trees with the setting sun and they still were many hours away from the borders. He started biting his lips and hurried backwards and forwards with a frown upon his forehead and his eyes trained on the growing shadows.

Then, the darkness set completely making it hard for even the elves to see. And with the darkness, its creatures awakened too. Soon they heard cruel screeches in the forest behind them. Orcs had picked up their trace. All colour drained out of Eriandras face and for one second he completely froze, lost at what to do. With his commander injured he was the leader of the patrol now. He couldn't let his elves die, least of all his Prince. For Legolas was not just their youngest Prince, he was _calad-amdir, light hope_. He was Mirkwood's hope. Without him, the royal family would fall into pieces and the Woodland Realm would fall with it. For one second Eriandras cursed his king, but then all his thoughts were focused on the here and now.

He turned to the patrol. All of them were staring at him with fear in their eyes.

"Run", Eriandras ordered calmly and quietly.

As if he had spoken a word of ancient magic, life came into the frozen bodies and the elves began to run. Those who could leapt into the trees, hurrying ahead and giving directions to those carrying the stretchers to aid them find a relative quick and painless way. Still Legolas eyes shot open for one second, before he closed them in pain, biting down on the piece of fabric Feriell had quickly shoved into his mouth. Only his strong feeling of responsibility kept him from passing out immediately. Eriandras had Merion's arm around his shoulders, helping the wounded warrior to limp along. It was a desperate dash for escape and nothing heroic accompanied their hurry as they stumbled through the darkness following the calls out of the trees.

"Down!" a desperate scream was suddenly ringing through thick air, the elf who shouted the warning somewhere in the darkness holding their back. Without thinking Eriandras threw himself and Merion to the ground as did the two elves carrying Legolas stretcher. It landed roughly, wood against wood and Legolas moaned in agony as he was jostled and pain shot through his limps like hot lava. Gras tickled his face but he couldn't care less. He forced the pain back, nearly passing out as he turned on his stomach. Blond hair hang into his blue eyes obscuring his view, but even they did not prevent him to see the dead eyes of Feriell. The she-elf stared sightlessly into space, all light vanished; her body limp and unmoving, a black quarrel among her brown hair, the head deeply imbedded in her brain. Anger rushed through Legolas and a pain his chest joined the physical pain of his injuries. The desperate need to vomit overcame him and he struggled to keep his body still as he heaved without having anything in his stomach he could spit out. Then he stilled for a few seconds, collecting his strength, rising his eyes to meet the dead counterparts of one of his elves. One deep breath, and another one, one more. With each breath he took, calmness washed more and more over his body.

He lunged over and carefully wrestled her knife out of the scabbard on her side. He forced his arms to bend as he dragged his body over them, drawing his knees up so he was on all four. He then tried to bring his feet under his body, all the time close to fainting. His strong will helped holding back the pain yet it was still flooding his conscious enough to make him consider giving up. But he would never give up. Not like this. He would not die crawling on the floor in this dark land, sputtering blood and not even defending himself. He would not die like this, never!

Finally, after what seemed to be ages, he straightened up, stumbling to the next tree and leaning heavily against it, his breath laboured and his eyes tightly shut. His fingers clawed into the hard rough bark.

"Hír-nin!" _My lord_. The words sounded muted in his ears, yet he could hear the plain, utter panic in the words. He whipped around, the knife in his hand, swaying on his feet but his eyes shone brightly. Jaran was by his side within the blink of an eye. Legolas could see Eriandras supporting Merion, the sword in his free left hand bloodied and the expression in his eyes wild and feral. Orc bodies were surrounding them, arrows marking their death. But the forest was still met with loud screeches of orcs and spiders, the barks of wargs and the thumbing of many feet.

"Flee!" Legolas hissed. Utter silence met his word, so he repeated it: "FLEE! Now!" The elves in the trees hesitated, however suddenly light erupted from Legolas' form, surprising everyone, including the Prince himself. Royalty surrounded the slim, yet slightly bend form. The hard, stern expression in the bright orbs left no room for refusal. Tears appeared on the cheeks of many elves, as they turned their back on the injured and hurried through the trees towards the border. Only Jaran stayed directly at Legolas side, more dragging then helping him north. Legolas noticed more delicate bodies among the crippled forms of the orcs, lithe elves. At least four of them. Among them was Ferienne, who had been carried on a stretcher like himself.

Eriandras was supporting Merion and only a few strides in front of him and Jaran. Desperation swept through Legolas. He hoped at least some of his elves would find their way to the security of the border. He wanted to send both Eriandras and Jaran away too. It would make survival a lot easier for them, but he knew they would disobey his request. Tears silently run over Legolas cheeks as he realised how many would die, how many had already died.

The pain soon replaced all worries. It felt as if Legolas was ripping his body open with each step he took. He was almost completely incapable to think of anything else, instead all thoughts focussed on holding back the pain and placing one foot in front of the other. His eyes were scanning the ground, searching to see through the darkness and find a way without stumbling.

Suddenly Jaran stopped with him, wordlessly holding him tighter. Legolas rose his head and felt his heart sinking down as he saw they had lost their way in the dark, unknown territory and were now standing on the side of a steep cliff. They had to double back, back to where the orcs were right now. Eriandras met his eye and they both knew, they would not survive the darkness in these parts of the forest.

Wordlessly they turned around, limping back in the tiny flicker of hope to avoid the orcs. Legolas mind drifted back to Alcanor and he heard the words his older brother had spoken to him:

_No attack comes with a warning and we feel how the darkness is effecting us here, it will worsen with each step you take south. It is a sickness which is infesting the trees and it is attacking your inner light. You might not feel it within the first few days or weeks, but it does hurt and make you feel sick to stay here for a long duration. And the trees will not aid even you, Tithen-las. They are wicked, cruel creatures who have nothing in common with their light brothers anymore._

Legolas closed his eyes in pain. Why, why had he not listened to the words of someone wiser than him? Why had he not listened to his older brother who had seen more war and death than he had and who had more experience in withstanding the dark? He would never see him again, would never get reprimanded for a wrong stance in the training grounds. He would never get to bicker with Falin about the ridiculous length of his silver hair or train with him with their bows in hand, would never again have Eyaenne fussing over him, making sure he was dressed properly and ate healthy food. He would not be there for Alcanor's and Roewen's wedding. Would not see any children the two might have, never get to see them running through the castle. Daeros and Arahen appeared before his inner eye, grinning widely, their features so similar everyone mistook them for each other, lookalikes as if they were twins. Again he felt their rib crushing hug they had given him before they let him go out on patrol whenever they were able to do so. Iarith's soft smile and her soft touch, distant to darkness she had never encountered, her being soft as the pedals of a flower.

A sob escaped his throat, followed by another. He rang for air as the tears were wetting his face and the pain in his side together with the pain in his chest forced him to stop.

Jaran gripped him tightly, not even trying to sooth the heartache the young elf was feeling. However Legolas did not find the strength to get back on his feet and Jaran just picked him up, allowing his young prince to lay his golden head against his broad shoulder. Jaran as well was filled with desperation, but he was focussed on the prince. They called him calid-amdir. He was their hope and their hope was broken. He, as had many others, had forgotten how young their leader was. Legolas had never imagined himself to die like this, so far from his family. And now the prince had not even the strength to die fighting. He had not the strength to wield the dagger he had taken from a fallen fellow warrior.

"Let me down", a tired whisper sounded next to Jarans ear and as he looked into his princes face, he was met with blue orbs staring into his eyes, determination and pain written in them. Slowly Jaran set Legolas down and the elf stood on his own feet, dragging them over the dark soil. Legolas looked into the dark boughs and in the next moment the elves he had sent away, let themselves fall to the ground. A dark hair elf appeared next to Legolas other side and took his arm.

"We are surrounded" he stated simply and Legolas felt the last of his hope vanish. "No way we could possibly escape. We tried, but we got shot out of the trees like birds. The trees betray us to the orcs and the orcs are rich in number. There are thousands in this forest, in every direction. We are as good as dead, but we wanted to die by your side, calid-amdir. You are our Prince, and our hope. We cannot ask for more."

Legolas listened to the words knowing they spoke truth. His elves were optimistic. If they thought they would die, than there truly was no way out!

"Get ready to fight" he ordered. "It was an honour to know you, my brothers, my sisters. We lived together, fought together, bled together. Now it is time to die together. I could not wish for braver elves to be by my side. I am proud of you and I apologize that I led you into your deaths. But if we have to die, we take as many orcs with us as possible!"

The warriors agreed and instead of wasting their energy on marching into their deaths, they ate some last provisions, lay down for a last hour of rest, their weapons close by. They were ready to fight their last battle.

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**Please Review!**

**gginsc**: I am sorry it took so Long again, but I promise I will NOT EVER give up on this Story. I just want to give you stuff I actually like myself and not some forced nonesense. I might take longer, I have a massive writer's block, but I will always Keep writing this until I finished! The only reason why I would possily stop is if People stopped reading the Story

**alee8246:** I appreciate your words so much, they are motivating and make me Keep writing! Thank you very much mellon nin, for all your Kind words!

**Badass Archer Daughter:** I DID IT! I finally updated! I hope this chap is good, tell me what you think, pls!

**WoodElfJedi**: MMh, I did not know elves don't get scars. I thought they do get scars but they fade and I had intened Alcanor's fury to be effecting this so it doesn't fade as quickly as it normally would. Sorry i took so Long updating I feel really bad!

**bettsam0731**: Well, I like your idea, but that is not gonna happen :)

**seth42:** I hope so too for I kinda don' know how to go on and save him out of THIS! Damn it! :D

**BellethielGreenleaf7:** Sorry I took Ages... I am glad you like my Alcanor Thranduil interactions! I love writing them too!

**Brightpath2:** Thanks for your Review, it kinda made me grin :) Yes, the Thranduil Family is kinda a bit foolish and stubborn at times

**Scathach47**: I liked the idea too. i wanted to Show how miscommunication leads to false assumptions and turn the truth into something completely else

**bella13446**: Mission accomplished then! :D Thx for your Review and your thoughts, I do appreciate them and they motivate me

**wenduo:** Yes, whether Gandalf is brave or stupid is hard to say, but he is a powerful wizard! And he wants t help and he kinda messed up by not being available than they sought for help

**JDSmith1123**: No, there will be no romance. I like my OCs, but I don't like writing romances Alcanor and Roewen are ok, but there will be no mysterious Lady Legolas falls in love with.

**Wicked Misty**: Hope you will stick with the Story even if I Need Ages to update... Sorry, damn writer's block. However I promise I will Keep updating, even if it is few and far in between the updates!


	14. 14: The horrors of Mirkwood

I am sorry this took so long again! I returned back to Germany after ten months in New Zealand and I was busy with being stuck in a plane for two days and after that visiting friends and family and applying for uni and that kind of stuff. I will try to give you the next chapter a bit earlier, though I promise nothing!

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Galadriel and Celeborn awaited them in the courtyard. Both wore valuable fabrics, white and silver and light blue mixed together in a mirror of the far sea. A smile appeared on Celebrian's face as she saw her parents. It had been a long time since their last meeting. For one moment the worry which had etched itself nearly invisible, around the eyes of the fair couple, faded in favour of happiness and love.

Elrond dismounted and offered Celebrian a hand to help her, however he was simply ignored as she jumped off her horse and after her shoes had clicked onto the pavement she hurried over to her parents. Elrohir and Elladan followed close by, though slower, with identical grins adoring their faces. There was no formal welcome and everyone else who had accompanied Elrond's family – Glorfindel, Lindir, Erestor and several advisors and warriors, was already led towards the lithe houses in the trees there they could refresh themselves and lie down to rest. Elrond and his family visited often enough to make formal welcomes seem ridiculous.

Elrond smiled softly as he greeted Celeborn, smirking as the elder elf treated him with a glare as always. Apparently just to make sure the half-elf did not forget what expected him should he ever dare to mistreat either his wife or his children.

"Ada!" an excited voice rang through the air and Elrond turned just in time to catch his beautiful Arwen in his arms, laughing and holding her in a tight embrace.

"Umdomiel!" his soft voice purred as he breathed in the wonderful flowery smell of his daughter's hair. It had been too long since he had last seen his little star. Much too soon, Arwen fled his embrace to hurry to her mother instead, only to be caught on her way by the twins, who lifted her in the air, laughing openly and tickling their little sister. The elfling began gasping for air as laughter and giggles shook her lithe body.

"Stop! El – Stop! El- ro- hir! Elladan! Stop!" she gasped between breaths. Melodic laughter rang through the air until Celebrian commanded the twins with a soft word to leave their sister alone. Arwen greeted her mother, a smile still on her face.

They followed Galadriel and Celeborn towards the trees, climbing up the stairs. After a family dinner while they all listened to Arwen's constant babbling, they sent the little elfling to go and play with her friends, as they had to discuss things not meant for little ears.

Elrond sat at the round table, his searching gaze gliding over the faces of those who were present. Elrohir and Elladan sat next to each other to his left. They had matured enormously over the last few hundred years. Gone were their recklessness and their eagerness to throw themselves into battle without thinking first. Instead they knew how to value their skills and made sure to never overestimate themselves. They had learned much from the failures in the past, yet Elrond wished they would have learned without the pain. Now, as valuable assets to all meetings and successful captains, their gray eyes shone calmly with a bright light.

Lindir had taken his seat next to them, his blue eyes studying the notes on the parchment in his hands, brow furrowed as he was lost deep in thought. Glorfindel stared into empty space, clearly thinking about the problem they were facing. Erestor had a similar pensive expression on his face.

Galadriel seemed distant as ever while Celeborn's forehead bore a frown of worry. Celebrian mirrored her father's frown.

"Mithrandir has passed through Lorien five days ago", Galadriel's emotionless eternal voice opened the meeting. "He should have reached Mirkwood's outer border yesterday. Hopefully, King Thranduil will explain what happened that Greenwood the Great could turn into Mirkwood, without us gaining knowledge about the Darkness. The last encounter we had undoubtedly led to him to believe we meant him harm, therefore his lack in a call for aid is understandable. Our brothers and sisters in Mirkwood are strangers to us, we don't know their ways, their history, nor their beliefs. Mithrandir will hopefully be able to change this and bring us closer together, but until then, we should heed the warning of Falin Thranduillion and not enter the dark wood. However we should still strive to aid them. Has anybody ideas as how we could do so, without provoking King Thranduil or his people?"

Glorfindel nodded shortly in agreement, before he rose his voice and said: "Elladan, Elrohir and I have thought about restarting patrols."

"That is a terrible idea", Elrond stated calmly, wondering slightly irritated how the elves could possibly come up with an idea as bad as this one. However, Glorfindel just smiled patiently.

"I was not finished yet, Elrond. We were thinking about restarting patrols, however not between the mountains and Mirkwood's border, as we did last time. Greenwood's elves still hold the borders there and will know about our presence and we will be welcomed with arrows between our eyes. This is not a path I wish to tread, nor anyone else. Instead let's have a look at what we know: We know the source of the evil creatures lies in the southern part of the forest and if the situation is as dire as we think, no elven warrior of Thranduil, nor any civilians, will find themselves in the southern part of Mirkwood. This is where we must go. We must offer a diversion to the woodelves, attack the darkness from the south. This will be very dangerous and the patrols should count fifty elves. We will not venture too deep into the forest. If we built a base camp south of the wood and arm it with enough warriors so it can withstand serious attacks, we will always have a place to fall back to. Should the orcs attack with numbers too great to withstand, it will be relatively easy to mount our horses and flee before they reach us. Unlike in Thranduil's Realm, no trees will hide them from our sight as they advance and we have every direction to run to."

Elrond nodded in understanding. He felt the gazes of his son's and Glorfindel on him. "It is a good idea", he judged after several minutes of silence and Celeborn nodded approvingly.

"I see orcs coming from the Grey Mountains" Galadriel threw in with her dreamy voice, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. "This is where they will built a second base, a new fortress of Darkness"

"With Lorien we have enough warriors to shield Mirkwood of attacks in the North as well", Elladan said quickly. "If we can stop them of founding a base or to destroy existing ones it would relieve Mirkwood greatly, without us interfering directly."

Elrohir nodded, saying nothing but clearly agreeing with his twin. Lindir already began scribbling down notes about what they would need to found and sustain bases in the Grey Mountains and south of Mirkwood, calculating the costs and making a rough plan about the yearly supplies.

They began a discussion which would last for many hours but in the end they all agreed that the plan was sound. Planning started that very evening. In one week the first patrols would be sent out, first to build a base south of Mirkwood. Two more patrols were to join not one week later and by the end of the month they wanted to begin entering the Southern part of the forest and strike against the darkness. At the same time more troops would head north towards the iron hills. It was agreed that Glorfindel would be commanding the base south and the twins the base in the hills. Celebrian was worried of course, concerning how the twin's last patrol on behalf of aiding the cold strange king ended, but she just sighed, knowing they were not as foolish anymore as they had been back then.

* * *

Gandalf's staff was illuminating the dark forest but the trees seemed to suck the light in, as if they were eating it alive, swallowing it whole, chewing on the soft tendrils of white light before they spit their dark saliva towards the wizard. The wizard was shocked to see the forest which used to be green and full of light and lighting a bonfire of joy in everyone's heart who set foot in it, had now turned into such darkness. It hurt his very being. And he knew that the elves, the Sindar as well as the Silvans, living in this forest would feel the change even more drastically; it would tear at their inner elven light.

_Clack_. The end of his wooden staff had found stone ground again and the wise old man carefully followed what was left of the elven path. It was not visible to eyes anymore, the former snow white marble stone had turned grey and was hidden underneath a thick layer of fallen leaves. The statues once standing to both sides like an avenue were broken and only occasional a single piece was visible under vines and blackish ivy.

Gandalf felt old as we walked through the dark trees, old and tired. How could this have escaped his watchful eye? He searched the foliage for signs of the elves. He must have crossed the border to Thranduil's Realm two days ago. It seemed unrealistic that his presence had gone unnoticed so far, yet no elf had crossed his path.

An odd, foreign sound tore Gandalf out of his musings. He stopped instantly, drawing his sword and raising the staff in his hand a bit higher. Searching blue eyes travelled over the tree trunks from underneath bushy eyebrows.

The snipping and clicking continued and suddenly, out of the thick, moist air, elven cries joined those noises. Not war cries, nor cries of pain and anguish, but orders being yelled and sharp cries for help.

"What kills in the shadows!" The voice of the ancient Istari was filled with the heaviness of magic and the light on the tip of his staff began glowing brighter as Gandalf left the path, stepping into the forest surrounding it. Long strides carried him towards the source of the cries and the anonymous clicking. The white light was met with dark, furry bodies, glistering on many moist eyes. Giant spiders with blade like legs and huge poisonous stingers. Screeching pained in Gandalf ears as the light fell on the foul creatures. An elf, clad in a heavy body armour, rolled over the floor from there he had fallen and jumped to his feet, his sword clambered solidly in his hand and his light brown hair a wild flurry in the magical light. The heavy armour attached to his person did not purely consist of harsh leather in browns and greens like the elves of greenwood preferred it, but golden metal protected his arms and wound in a mobile cage around his chest. Only for a second, icy blue orbs fell on Gandalf's gray person before the elf turned back to the battle at hand. The spiders were shrinking back in pain of the bright light. His face was adored by something which could only be described as a mix of a smirk and a scowl. The elf yelled something while already throwing his weapon in a mighty show of determination and wilderness into the soft belly of the nearest beast which had only seconds before threatened his own life. A heavy dialect of the elven language, the language of the Silvans, made it impossible for Gandalf to understand. All he heard coming out of the warriors mouth as a sharp order was his elvish name; Mithrandir.

The seemingly old man took a tighter hold of his sword as he threw himself into battle. Other elves fought just as bravely and similarly clad under the trees close by. Though their faces were free from mud and dirt and the only thing sullying their clothes was blood and the signs of use, they seemed wild and undisciplined compared to their Noldor brothers. Maybe it was their eyes, the eyes which had so clearly seen battle and cruelty or maybe it was the expressions on their faces: the uncontrolled rage and urge to kill and the pain etched clearly around the hard lines around their chins. They made the armies of Rivendell and Lorien seem like lifeless nobility and rich, yet lazy elves. They were truly threatening, for even though Gandalf was able to see the emotions crossing their faces, their way to fight was a deadly synchrony and they fought together in a way which proved hard discipline and loyalty. Also their golden uniforms reminded Gandalf of seeing an army of skilled woodland elves marching to Dagorlad so many years ago and a shiver run down his spine, knowing that these soldiers were just as capable as the warrior who left their lives at the forsaken land.

The wizard parried a sting with his staff, sending a wave of magic out which momentarily stunned the spiders, even though it only lasted but a second. The pointy end of his sword slit easily through the abdomen of the stunned spider in front of him and he quickly turned around to face another one of the beasts.

It only took a few minutes to kill the remaining spiders. The elves remained watchful and a few of them hurried towards the trees, climbing them with ease. Normally they would have preferred leather armour for exactly that reason: Woodelves, Sindar and Silvan alike, preferred to fight amongst the trees which made a certain mobility necessary. Apparently however, they had been forced to make compromises. They wore part of the golden armour meant for war outside the forest, though they had forgone the helmets, additional chest and stomach plates as well as protection for their upper arms and legs. Also their boots were light and made for the soft ground of forest floors. Their shins and forearms were protected by the golden metal.

"Mithrandir" one elf greeted and stepping closer, yet his eyes still focused on his surroundings and his weapon still in his hand. His face displayed none of his emotions but for the calm determination mixed with the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. "It had been a long time since you last ventured into our forest. Have you not been told of the danger?"

"I have, which is why I am here."

The song of a bird sounded through the air and it sounded lost amongst the still quietness of the former loud forest. The elf lowered his sword and now turned fully to Gandalf.

"You should not have come here", he stated calmly. "You are not welcome in the Realm of King Thranduil."

Gandalf quirked and brow. "And what are we going to do about that?"

"Nothing", the elf surprised him. "You are not welcome here, yet this is – so far – a result of the situation within Mirkwood and less the result of your associating with the kin traitors in Rivendell and Lorien. My king will wish to see you to listen to your undoubtful bad news."

* * *

Legolas heard his heartbeat in his ears as he slowly stood up. He grimaced in pain and his vision threatened to black out. They were almost here. Around him, elves rose from the ground. Some hurried to the trees, bows in hand, others grasped the hilts of their weapons and surrounded Legolas and Merion in a circle.

Eriandras still held Legolas arm and he seemed reluctant to let go, as the young Prince clearly was not in the best shape. But then, what did it matter in the end? They were all going to die anyway. The prince's blue eyes stared at his second in command.

"This is the end, isn't it?" Eriandras whispered, almost too quiet to be heard over the vibrating noise of marching and yelling orcs.

"It appears so" was all Legolas found as a reply.

"To death it is, then", Eriandras swallowed. He made to turn away to take his place in the circle, however hesitated after just one step. He turned around to the blond warrior once more, who was having trouble standing and was feeling very lightheaded of the loss of blood.

Eriandras rested his forehead against Legolas', still holding him upright.

"It was an honour, my Prince." With those words he kissed Legolas' forehead and turned away, coldness sweeping over his face as he took his place in the circle and left Legolas to be leaning against a nearby tree.

Arrows ran through the air as the first orcs came into sight. And from this moment on, the arrows did not stop hailing until the quivers of all warriors were emptied. Merion struggled with Legolas' bow. He did not possess his prince's strength however he focused on nearby foes and managed to shoot what remained of Legolas' arrows, each killing an orc successfully.

The elves fought with all they had, with all their strength, without holding back. It was not enough. It was not long until an elven scream filled the air to substantiate the death of Kirion who fell under an orc scimitar. Legolas flinched with the sound, feeling hopeless as never before: His soldiers were dying and he was too weak to come to their aid, no matter what little help his aid would have been against the overpowering forces of orcs surrounding them.

After the first fell, it was not long until other followed. Tears were flowing freely over Legolas cheeks as he stepped to the side to avoid an arrow. He immediately lost his balance but was caught but Merion, who was holding both of Legolas' elven daggers. For one moment they looked at each other, then Merion opened his mouth and blood gushed forward, spilling over his chin and the brown leather armour and the blue shirt underneath. With wide eyes Legolas looked down and saw four arrows embedded in Merion's upper body.

"No", Legolas breathed but it was too late. Fire seemed to choke him and he gasped desperately for breath. Silent begs came over his lips, but the elf in his arms did not understand the whispers. The pleas. The begging. He gently lowered Merion to the ground and the elf was dead before his head lay on the leaf covered floor. Legolas wanted nothing more than lie next to the elf and close his eyes, willing the entire situation away. This had to be a dream! It had to be! Nothing but a cruel nightmare! Yet the very real pain in his chest and side proofed otherwise. The pain in Legolas' side was unbearable as he took his knife out of Merion's slack hand. His right hand pressed on there blood came running out of his body like spring water out of the ground, he rightened himself. Forcing his body to ignore the pain, Legolas spun around to attack an orc who was trying to get into the circle they still held, tough smaller as it had been in the beginning.

The anger and the pain tearing in his chest for dominance gave him unknown strength and at the same time weakened his soul and mind like nothing else could.

"What are you doing!" Legolas heard Eriandras' angry cry, but he did not answer. He was going to die anyway but he'd be damned if he died sitting on the ground or leaning against a dark tree. With refreshed energy, his bodies very last resources, he threw himself into battle, his mind blank and empty as he saw nothing but blood.

The elven cries came less and less and at one point he stepped back, breathless and soaked in blood. Orcs were still surrounding him and three other elves. That was all what was left of his patrol. The bodies of the fallen lay between steel clad, monstrous orc feet, ignored and occasionally stepped upon.

"This is the end" one of the elves said before he attacked the mass of orcs once more. Before he even reached the wall of orcs, he was shot down and he fell to the ground, gasping for breath which would not come as he suffocated on his own blood. The orcs laughed and the archers lifted their bows once more after adding another arrow to the bowstring. Legolas turned to see Eriandras, covered in blood, standing beside him. In this moment, the loyal elf made a decision. He dropped his sword and sprinted over to Legolas' His body smacked into his as his long arms embraced him. A second later Legolas heard the sickening sound of arrows entering flesh. Eriandras fell, a dozen arrows in his back, taking Legolas down with him, protecting him with his last breath, using his body as a shield.

Anguish tore Legolas' heart and soul apart as he hit the ground, Eriandras sightless eyes in front of him as the life left his second in command. Everything turned black.

* * *

**Please review!**

**Badass Archer Daughter:** Hey mate, ou still alive? Haven't heard from you in ages! Hope you enjoy this chap :D

**Emma Gilthoniel:** I hope you will stick to the story even after what I just did to Legolas ;) I am glad you enjoyed it so for, please leave me another review, they are the best motivation to continue writing!

** 8839:** Well,they will meet and I am looking forward to write that as well, but it will be a nother two or three chapters until that happnes, sorry :D

**Scathach47:** I will not abandon this story, not ever! I might take longer between updats, with uni starting and all that, but I will NOT abandon this story, not until I finished it properly! And updated everything properly of course! :D

**WoodElfJedi:**Thanks mate, you are great for saying that!  
I hope you liked this chapter as well.  
I did not know about that scar thing, but maybe I will find a point to let Elrond talk about it and do something like, Alcanors anger was so great it prevents the scars of healing

**BellethielGreenleaf7:** Thank you very much for that great compliment! It eans a lot for me! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too, even though I was a bit mean to Legolas' patrol :/ :)

**Ninde:** Well, my spanish is non-existant so I replie in english if that is ok :D Thank you very much for reading this story even though you have to use a translator to do so! I hope it all still makes sense reading it after it went through the translator

**Brightpath2:** I agree: It did absolutely NOT go well ... At all! It went pretty horrible. ;)

**wenduo:** Well, they aren't. No miracle this time, sorry. I guess a lot of you expectat Gandalf to stroll through the forest near by and safve them all ... well, it did not happen, sorry :D


	15. 15: They are all dead

Legolas fought against the red haze of pain. It clouded his eyes and held his chest in a fiery hot embrace. He had no idea how long he lay in the mud, unable to move, unable to do anything. Freezing coldness washed over him only to be replaced by the hot breath of a fever. For days he struggled. Sometimes he heard noises nearby, whether from orcs or spiders or other foul creatures or if it was the simple sounds of the darkening forest, Legolas could not tell. His brain refused to work out what accompanied these noises and so he was left in the dark pit filled with his pain, shivering with fear and anticipation. Why was he even still alive? He should not be! He lay in the mud, Eriandras' heavy dead body on top of him, waiting for death to come, waiting for the orcs to notice one of their foes had escaped the hail of arrows. Yet no one came and he continued breathing hoarsely, struggling to pull air in his battered lungs.

Legolas forced his eyes open and stared into the canopy above. A sly smile found its way on his bloody lips. Dark foliage stood out strongly against a light blue sky. Even the dark trees held an unknown beauty, Legolas realised. Slowly, the young prince blinked; his eyelashes sticky with moisture. A strong, disgusting smell of decay entered his nose and tears filled his eyes once more. He did not wish to remember his elves like this; he did not wish to associate their memory with the stench of their rotting, dead bodies. The sound of thousands of flies filled the air and Legolas felt like throwing up. Desperately he stopped himself, sobbing quietly and attempting to keep his body still as to escape the blinding pain movement included.

A single strand of silky hair moved in front of his mouth with each breath he took and for a moment Legolas solemnly stared at this strand of hair, focusing on nothing else and trying to ignore the smell of decomposing bodies. He must have lain in the mud for a lot longer than he had thought: The air was always crisp beyond Mirkwood's borders and the coldness of the earth underneath him seemed extreme. Also he was sure he coldness was not only an imagination of his wounded body but he had been aware of it before he even got wounded, even though he had not minded as his elven endurance saved it from effecting him. Therefore the bodies must have taken longer to decompose than normally. Yet the stench! He must have been here for a week, maybe even longer!

After Legolas had regained some control he tried to escape from underneath Eriandras' body. Which was easier said than done but Legolas was desperate to escape. Slowly he managed to slide the body to his side. It took him almost an hour until the body suddenly fell limply into the mud next to him. Something fleetingly touched his cheek and the prince raised a shaking hand, afraid of what he would find. It was something wet. His fingers were coated in bloody foam which usually resulted from decay. Disgusted the last surviving elf shoved his fingers into the mud next to him to get rid of it. He pressed his eyes closed, a soft whimper on his lips.

Carefully Legolas moved towards the nearest tree trunk. He did not even attempt to get on his feet without the support, knowing he would never make it. Not with the burning pain in his chest, the headache which caused the world to spin around him and the loss of blood with only intensified the latter.

When he finally arrived at the tree, his fingers clawed into the dark, almost black bark of the tree. The rough surface felt icy underneath his hand. Sweat broke out as he sat up, resting his back against the trunk. Still, the world began spinning dangerously and blackness edged closer on the outskirts of his vision. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the trunk. His long hair was not sparkling blond but covered in mud and the bloody foam of Eriandras' body. He smelled intensely of decay and blood and vomit. He whimpered again. He wanted to go home! There was nothing else he wanted more. Waking up in his bed in the castle and realising it had all been a bed dream. And he would jump to his feet and be able to run to his father. He wanted his ada, he would make it all good again!

Forcefully Legolas stopped the thoughts. Even as his heart craved for his family and for his ada most of all, he knew he would never see his stern father again, nor any of his siblings. All he did was waiting for death to take him and as some sort of joke destiny played on him, it forced him to feel the pain of being responsible for the death of his patrol, feeling the pain on being completely broken, his soul shattered into tiny sharp pieces.

The dizziness retreated and Legolas slowly opened his eyes again. Before him he saw the dead bodies of his elves. Eriandras' body nearby in the mud, his wide eyes staring up to the canopy as Legolas had before. Further away, more familiar faces. He was glad he could not see them all. Those who lay far enough or face down. Those, who were hidden by massive orc bodies or trees. The sight was terrible enough. A heart wrenching sob escape Legolas throat.

"I am sorry", he managed to whisper nearly inaudibly. He had led them into their deaths and they had followed him without question. It was his fault. He should never have ventured so far south, should have stayed closer to the border. It was his entire fault.

* * *

Thranduil leant back on the high throne, his blue eyes wandering through the giant halls as if he was bored and had no worry in the world. He nervously began to play with one of his many rings, a habit he had acquired long ago as it allowed him to pursue it without anyone noticing even when he sat in a meeting or looking down at someone while sitting on his throne. His sharp ears picked up how the guards opened the massive door on the other side of the giant hall. Soft leather boots on stone and a bit later on wood. He had received the message that one of his patrols was bringing Mithrandir to his stronghold safely.

Other boots on stairs; a lot closer this time. Thranduil turned his head in order to look to the steps leading up to the platform with the throne on his right. White-blond hair fell over his shoulders and grazed the silver fabric of his kingly coat.

Alcanor walked towards the platform. As soon as he felt his father's blue eyes on him, he forced an unconvincing smile on his face. He wore grey trousers similar to the ones Thranduil donned and a royal shirt of silky, silver-blue fabric. The scars of the assassination attempt in Rivendell were barely visible anymore. They had faded in time yet the king was still able to see them on his son's neck if he looked closely.

The crown prince gave his smile up and instantly his brow furrowed in worry. He climbed the stairs and entered the platform with the giant throne on it. The guards bowed for one moment but otherwise ignored his presence. Thranduil sat still on the throne, only turning his head to follow the warrior with his gaze. Alcanor nodded respectfully before climbing the next set of stairs up to his king. He stopped next to the throne, a few steps down the stairs. He leant forward and rested his lower arms on his thigh as his left foot stood two stairs higher than his right.

"My king", he began and bowed his head once more. His voice was barely more than a whisper but the grand acoustics of the giant hall carried it easily to the cold elven king. "The patrols we sent out are supposed to return to the border in five days. With your permission, hir-nin, I will ride to the border to escort them back here." _My King._

King Thranduil thought about the proposal. It was obvious that all Alcanor truly wanted was to see his brother. Thranduil was just as worried for his baby, his youngest son. However he knew: If he allowed Alcanor to ride to the border and Legolas did not return, there was no way any of his orders would keep the crown prince behind the safety of the borders. The warrior would ride south and endanger his own life. And he loved Alcanor just as intensely as he loved Legolas. Legolas had at least the entire strength of his patrol behind him, but Alcanor would not be able to take the elves stationed on the border as it was their job to hold the border and not to venture south. It would be an irony if Legolas returned only to have Alcanor being killed looking for the youngest Thranduillion.

Blue eyes simply continued to stare into silver ones and by the way the hope floated away to be replaced by sadness and a dull sense of anger it was clear that Alcanor understood Thranduil's non-verbal answer. This, of course, did not mean he had to agree with it! For one moment Alcanor stayed perfectly still while his mind was running silently over possible arguments, before he launched into a full-blown, yet polite and calm, discussion. However, all he received were quiet, well-placed words and counter-arguments his father gave dispassionately.

After several minutes Thranduil raised his hand, not towards the crown prince but towards the wizard and the leader of the patrol who had accompanied to wise man to now stand before the woodland king. Thranduil finished his last argument, concluding the discussion in a tone of voice which was enough to tell Alcanor to not dare more unless he was ready to be on the receiving end of his ire. Alcanor's mouth hardened but he bowed his head in defeat. Meanwhile, the king noticed for the first time that at some point during their discussion, Alcanor must have slipped into the silvan tongue, as he himself had been speaking it too. Unlike his children he had not been brought up with the unintelligible dialect of the wood elves and therefore preferred the sindar language, sindarin. He would never accidentally change the language in the middle of a discussion; however his children were all prone to this if agitated, just as their mother had been. He had adapted by following the change in language smoothly yet he never was the one changing it himself, unless to prove a point.

He now turned to Mithrandir. The istar stood before him in his grey robes, his long wooden staff in his right hand. He leaned on it as if needing support though Thranduil knew better then to underestimate the ancient wizard.

Feeling the king's attention on him, Mithrandir bowed ineptly yet with respect.

"King Thranduil! It is good to see you again!"

"Mithrandir", Thranduil stated coolly. His fingers resumed playing with the silver ring of branches on his right ring finger. "It has been long indeed since you last graced us with your presence. It has been many centuries, has it not? I am sure you remember my son: Crown Prince Alcanor." Thranduil lazily gestured towards the warrior who still stood at his father's side on the stairs.

Alcanor nodded towards the Istari, worry returning to his eyes.

"Do you bear bad news?", he asked, frightened.

"That depends on what you consider bad news, Prince of Greenwood", Mithrandir said, trying to adulate the rulers of the forest.

"Greenwood has fallen", Thranduil's emotionless voice drawled. "This is Mirkwood, old man. Greenwood only exists in the past. Have you not seen the forest as you wandered through it? The darkness is claiming our land."

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell is concerned, King Thranduil. I have heard there were a few misunderstandings between your two Realms."

"Misunderstandings", Thranduil drawled and rolled his eyes looking towards Alcanor as if to say: Can you believe how ridiculous this is? The crown prince could not refrain from sniggering. He turned away after he found himself unable to stop and the king had rolled his eyes yet again, this time to show his annoyance to his son's childish behaviour. The hand firmly clasped over his mouth he turned away.

Thranduil turned his attention back to the wizard though he kept a worried eye on his crown prince: He knew Alcanor was so sick of worrying for Legolas that right now he reacted as if the roll of the king's blue eyes had been absolutely ludicrous.

"It was more than just a simple 'misunderstanding', mellon-nin." _My friend_.

"Maybe it would help to hear your version of how things occurred however I can attest that Lord Elrond had no intention of harming either your Realm or your people or your family." Brown eyes looked piercingly at the proud king glad in distant silver.

"Of course he had not!", Thranduil scowled, anger colouring his voice and contorting his smooth features in a mask of utter scorn. The sarcasm in the words rang thickly through the air. With his words he had abruptly stood up, throwing his silver cape back on the wooden throne with a single, elegant, yet promisingly deadly gesture. The inside of the cape was a sea of blood red silk. Alcanor hurried down the stairs to get out of the king's way.

"And yet, the last two encounters we had with the Imladris elves both times led to one of my children closer to death then I dare thinking about! Do not tell me Elrond would seek negotiations had our positions be reversed and his children had come to deadly harm instead of mine. And I will not listen to elves who keep going on about how silvans are worth less than sindar, for they are not!" He slowly walked down the stairs, his head held high and seemingly not needing any attention to descend.

"Tell me, Mithrandir, why wou-" Thranduil abruptly stopped himself and straightened further. He heard elves running towards him over the floating walkways of the underground roots. His eyes instantly focused on the distant there he saw the elves coming, wearing the green and brown leather and golden steel armour. The king's eyes widened and his thoughts fled to Legolas. Fear gripped his heart and he forced it away. A cold mask slipped over his features, hiding all of the emotions raging within him.

Meanwhile Gandalf narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The great Elven-king was not prone to interrupting himself and he usually did not take interruptions kindly. Mithrandir felt dread washing over him as he saw how fear flashed in Thranduil's eyes and may it only be for one second. Afterwards very emotion was tightly hidden behind a cold mask. The wizard followed the king's gaze and turned around. Leaning heavily on his wooden staff, he was able to see a group of lithe wood elves sprinting over the pathways in a distance. Their step promised a dire situation. And true enough, seconds later loud cries rang through the still air.

"Hir-nin! Hir-nin!" One elf began yelling though he was still far away. _My king! My King! _"The patrols were attacked!", the elf yelled running on the platform and falling on his knees. His breath came in harsh gasps. "Hir-nin!" he said again, trying to catch his breath. My king! "The patrols you send south of Mirkwood's border were attacked! We just received notice that three days ago, two elves of Ellendas' patrol arrived at the southern outpost Stonehead!" He stopped here, not daring to continue without order in the presence of the old grey wizard who so clearly was no elf.

The Istar watched the king's face intensely and was witness to a strange flicker across the fair features. For one moment, not even a second, the king's mask failed. Failed tremendously in a way even Gandalf who was known as a bearer of bad news had never before seen it happen on accident. The glamour which let everyone see two blue eyes set in a perfect face, faded and revealed angry scar tissue over the left side of the king's face. For one moment a sightless, white eye was revealed before it vanished again underneath the glamour.

"Report!", Thranduil asked sharply.

"The two elves were injured severely. They also … they gave an account of the death of at least half of their patrol. They are hoping for more survivors, but it seems unlikely. The darkness beyond the border is too strong, orcs and spiders have infested the territory. They were attacked several times, trying to fight their way further south. They returned after it became clear there was no way of further intrusion. On their way back, they were attacked and slaughtered."

"What of the other patrols? Legolas', Gyandras' and Liael's? Have you any word of them?"

"No, hir-nin, we have not." The voice of the man was barely more than a whisper and yet it was enough to freeze Thranduil's blood. The words which remained unsaid petrified him. Though they did not leave the man's lips they were clearly writing all over his face: It is expected that they are all dead. He felt as if his heart had stopped beating in his chest. Pain flared in his chest before the muscle once more constricted forcefully, reluctantly, sending a wave of pain through his entire body. His face was set and did not betray the thunderstorm behind the blue orbs.

Alcanor was the first to move. He turned to storm out of the hall, but Thranduil caught his arm and held him firmly in place.

"Call Mirkwood to arms, Alcanor! I want two hundred soldiers tomorrow by dawn. We need provisions and horses. Send messengers to the border to inform them of our arrival. Wake your siblings, tell them what happened. They shall accompany me to the border. You will not ride today, nor will any of your siblings, is that clear! I need you here!"

"Yes, Adar", Alcanor said, before running away.

For one second Thranduil, the great elven king, slumbed in his throne. Exhausted, pained eyes met Gandalfs worried eyes.

"To war it is, old friend", Thranduil whispered dispassionately before forcing himself on his feet, the regal posture once again capturing the lithe body as he strode away. Mithrandir followed him quickly, his thoughts storming in his brain wondering what he had missed those last few hundred years.

* * *

**Please review!**

**Thank you to my beta-reader Jaxzan Proditor!**

**julia. rosey8839:** Thank you very much for your review! It keeps me writing to see that people enjoy my work! I hope you are happy with this chapter and I did not dissappoint your expactations towards this chapter :) Please keep reading!

**wenduo:** Thank you, yes, my time in New Zealand was great! Though it is very nice to be back home as well. And I am completely broke now, but hell, it was worth it :)  
Yeah, I really have to integrate Gandalf more in the next chapter. I do want to protray him as the wise and powerful wizard he is, but so far I have not exactly succeed. I definitely have to step up my game next chapter and give Gandalf some cool stuff to do... Any ideas?And yeah, legolas is definitely stuck this time. As am I. For I have no idea how I can get Legolas from there he is into the situation I want him to be next. While I wrote I kinda got overexcited and ended up throwing him into a situation way worse than iniatially intended ... upps.

**WoodElfJedi:** Thank you for your kind review! I try to update sooner than last time, though I can't promise anything! But I give my best! Oh, and I am sorry. The funny thing is: I never intend to write cliffhangers! I just have the goal to write 3000 words each chaoter (or more) and somehow quite a few turned out to be cliffhangers by the time I finished. I can't help it.

**Guest:** Ok, first things first: I do appreciate your review ... but: Maybe you could give me a bit more than that. What about 'hey, mate, nice chap, I really enjoyed that, please keep writing'. This way it is way more encouraging for me to write more than a simple 'update soon' because that just makes me think: 'What for' I don't even know if you liked this chapter or maybe you have a problem with a scene or a question or whatever. Also, it takes me several hours to write a single chapter, it takes you a few minutes to read it and it would take you only like half a minute to write a nice, proper review which helps me to continue writing, because I see that people do enjoy it. So please, reviews are the only 'pay' ff-authors get, so if you take the time to read a chapter, please do take the time to drop a bit more than just 'update soon'. That being said, I still do appreciate that review, as it tell me you apparently follow the story. So please, a single review can make my day. I dare you: Make my day!

**Scatach47:** Thank you very much! I am so glad you like my story! I hope this chapter makes you happy as well! And yeah, I really liked Eriandras and to be so loyal to scrifice himself to protect Legolas the way he did, it is pretty incredible. I am kinda really sad I killed him off ... :/ :)

**FP3:** Thank you very much for your reviwe! I liked Erinadras too! As I just said to Scatach47, I am kinda upset I killed him off ... But it made for a good story, a good plot and apparently you guys feel with Legolas. So what did you think about the meeting of Thranduil and Gandalf? I went relatively well, if you focused on them actually meeting and pretty bad if you focuse on the new Thranduils received. And poor Gandalf still has no clue what the heck is going on. I really have to try and give him a more powerfull role in the next chapter.

**Guest:** See above


	16. 16: I am coming, Tithen-las

Dawn came with a cold chill. Thin, icy blankets lay on top of the highest leaves, though underneath their foliage it was a bit warmer. The air was cold enough to burn in the lungs of the elves who had assembled during the night. Fathers and mothers, wives and husbands, sons and daughters, they all had been woken up during the night by the sound of elven horns which ran through all of Mirkwood. And they had answered the call to arms. Those who knew how to fight had left their homes, kissing their families good-bye before they left into the dark, their weapons stripped to their belts and chests. Some remained behind to protect the villages, regardless whether they lay in what was considered a safe area yesterday, or on the very outskirts of the kingdom.

King Thranduil had asked for two hundred soldiers. In the morning, an army of four thousand soldiers waited for his orders. Two thousand stood before the deep mountain halls, the others had assembled in their villages. Clouds formed in front of their mouths as they stood motionlessly in formation. The patrols which were striding through the forest had each received ten more soldiers under the supervision of Crown Prince Alcanor. His siblings who led patrols had left them under the command of someone else as they returned to the stronghold. Falin had been first to return, his long silver hair flying behind him like a flag in the wind, worry etched deeply into his eyes.

"What happened?", was all he had asked as he'd come to a halt before Alcanor. The Crown Prince had looked at his brother before he'd stepped forward and hugged him tightly. Surprised, Falin had awkwardly returned the hug, his worry deepening with the gesture. Alcanor was not a hugger, only Roewen received his warm embraces.

"Legolas?" Falin asked breathless. Alcanor had nodded and had stepped back. He had seemed tired as he had quickly explained what had happened.

Daeros and Arahen had arrived together only a few hours later, their movements so much like the other's that even Alcanor for one moment doubted if the two were not indeed twins and his parents had lied to him. Eyaenne, the wild princess, was still on her way as she had been the furthest away. She would have to catch up with them for they would not stay in the stronghold but march south.

King Thranduil stepped out of the massive green doors which led into his underground elven haven. One again he was clad in his silver armour, his long blond hair falling over the silken fabric and the cold steel and was being held back by the simple, yet delicate circlet upon his brow. His eyes bore into everyone with such coldness that it sent chills down their spines. His mouth was set determinedly and his voice was so harsh no one dared to refuse one of the orders he barked or to question his decisions.

He personally chose the three hundred soldiers with the most experience. The rest was to return home, but keep their weapons within arm's reach and prepare to fight for king if he called and therefore train swordfight and archery.

"King Thranduil!" a dark voice sounded. The elf turned around swiftly, his silver cloak billowing at the movement.

"Mithrandir", Thranduil said, hiding his surprise. He had completely forgotten the wise wizard was here. His thoughts had been solely focused on getting the troops ready to find his baby. "Mithrandir!", he repeated, this time with an adumbration of agitation. "Tell me, mellon-nin, is there a chance you could help us find our soldiers?"

The Istar grumbled under his breath as he considered it.

"Where are your patrols?", he asked slowly.

"South", Thranduil replied, beginning to walk towards the stables. "They crossed our borders to venture further south. Their order was to drive the dark forces back and reclaim the land. I was a fool. This mission was doomed the second it started, yet in my blindness, my eagerness to reclaim our land and to rebuild Greenwood, I sent them into their deaths. And now their blood is on my hands."

"You said, darkness has claimed those lands? The trees have fallen into the shadow and spiders and orcs infest the forest?", Gandalf insured.

"Yes", the affirmation was bitten out coldly.

"I might be able to trace the inner light of your elves. They should stand out clearly against the darkness of the place and if they are still alive and I am close enough, I might be able to point you the way."

"Good. We ride in an hour, wizard", Thranduil stopped and turned. His brows were drawn together ever so slightly as he bowed towards the grey pilgrim. "Thank you." With that, the king entered the stables and headed towards one of the big boxes.

His dark brow furrowed in irritation upon seeing his youngest daughter saddling her horse. She was clad in her leather training armour and the light sword was at her hip. Her long hair was carefully plaited out of her face and falling onto the brown cloak draped around her slim shoulders.

"And pray tell, what are you doing, Princess", the king's bored voice drawled through the stable.

"Readying my horse, hir-nin", the beautiful she-elf replied as she turned around and bowed. Despite the situation, Thranduil snorted. Iarith was an elegant young lady. Iarith never bowed. She was not made to be a soldier, it was not within her to fight and follow or give orders. And to see her bow instead of curtseying was just plain ridiculous.

His amusement angered said lady and she glared at him.

"You will not accompany us", Thranduil declared before she even had the opportunity to say anything.

"Yes, I will", she bit back.

"You won't. Do not be a fool, Iarith. You are no warrior. You'd be nothing but a hindrance!" For all half angry, half concerned words, the king's voice was as disinterested as ever as he walked down the stable to see to his own horse; a proud stallion with black fur.

"I know how to fight!" Iarith protested loudly. "I took lessons if you'd care to remember. Or did you even notice it? It's not as if you are interested in us unless we fight your bloody wars."

Thranduil stopped mid-motion. His eyes flared up with an angry fire.

"You know how to fight?", he asked evenly as if to gauge the truthfulness of the words and he turned around to her slowly. "Very well. Attack me!"

Iarith hesitated. She had not expected her father to react like this. The next second a cool blade suddenly hovered just before her delicate neck.

"What do you know of war? Nothing!", Thranduil spat out. His daughter's eyes widened and something akin to fear entered the bright orbs. The king could not describe how painful the clench of his heart was, but he ignored the notion. He'd rather his daughter feared him and stay here than have her come with them as they rode south. The border was no place for Iarith. She was nowhere near as skilled with the sword as his other children. He did not love her any less but he had fought too many battles to be comfortable with her at his side. If she stayed here, she'd be safe.

Several seconds the sneer stayed on the elf's lips before he lowered the sword. "You will stay behind, Princess Iarith. That is an order." With that he whisked his sword back into the scabbard at his side and turned around to walk to his horse, leaving a stunned and frightened Iarith behind. He did not see how his daughter fought the tears in her eyes and bit her lip, making a rude gesture towards his back.

Thranduil walked up to his proud stallion and his long finger's briefly caressed the white star upon the horse's brow.

"Iell-nin", he spoke up after a few seconds of silence. _My daughter._ "We will do our best to bring your brother back. Do not dread." Empty words, nothing more. He himself was utterly afraid of losing Legolas. All his thoughts were with his little leaf. Who knew where he was, if he was even still alive? And yet he wanted to keep Iarith save and ease her worries. He turned around to face her but was only met with a shutting door.

He saddled his horse and led the stallion out of the stables. Three hundred warriors were waiting for him. His warrior-children – besides Legolas – stood together, ready for battle with their heavy armour and the determined look in their eyes. Alcanor's hand was tightly wrapped around Roewen's who leaned into his side, the same uncertain fear in her eyes like in the silver orbs of his children. She truly was a perfect match for Alcanor.

Wordlessly, King Thranduil mounted his horse and the soldiers followed his lead without needing a spoken command.

"I am coming, Tithen-las", Thranduil whispered and the wind took his words after his lips kissed them good-bye and they were forever lost among the trees.

* * *

Loud voices intrusively filled the usually quite halls of the extensive library in Lorien. Four dark haired and four blond elves stood in one of the studies, the walls of books giving just enough space for all of them to be fairly comfortable. Elladan and Elrohir were discussing with balrog-slayer Glorfindel and marchwarden Haldir while Erestor – ever the scholar – wrote down to what conclusions they came. Elrond stood apart and just watched them with a smile in his eyes with Celebrian's body gently pressed against his side, her blond hair tickling his neck. Celeborn stood next to them, gazing lovingly down at his daughter in her husband's arms before focusing his attention to Glorfindel who spoke up.

"We need more supplies at the beginning. Also we need at least forty warriors to horse, preferably archers from Lorien. We will be at our most vulnerable while we built the camp. I do not expect the Darkness to attack us if we stay out of the woods. Our scouts have told us that they have not seen a single orc south of the forest in the Brown Lands. They seem to be busy with the elves of Mirkwood. Still, I want us to be able to defend ourselves long enough to retreat without the loss of lives should it come to an attack."

"I agree", Elladan and Elrohir said as one.

"I can call sixty of my archers to accompany us", Haldir agreed as well. His eyes instinctively glanced over to his Lord Celeborn and the old elf bowed his head in agreement. "They can be ready within a few days."

Erestor wrote the new number down and said: "Until when we should be able to gather the provisions needed and the carts Lord Elrond sent for should have arrived."

"We will leave in two weeks and head for the Brown Lands", Glorfindel finished the productive discussion and stood straight after leaning over a map all morning. Elrond saw him wince slightly as his neck was stiff and his muscles knotted.

Elrohir nodded and left the room without even looking at his twin. Worriedly, Elrond watched him go and he felt how Celebrian also twisted her head. After the elf had left she looked up to him.

"Do you think he will be alright? I worry about him. He has not spoken about what happened in Mirkwood in a very long time. I fear he will withdraw from us again."

"Yes, he has not. However at the same time, ever since it was decided to send help to Mirkwood he has been the first to declare he would be part of said help. He seems to feel obliged to make up for the Princess's death", Elrond said, lost in thought.

"I will go with them, my love, to keep an eye on our son. I know you cannot leave and I feel hesitant to let him go without one of us."

"He always has me", Elladan stated seriously and interfered with the private conversation of his parents. Celebrian took her arms back from there they rested around Elrond's waist and faced Elladan fully. A smile stuck to her lips.

"I know, Elladan. And he is very lucky to have you. Would you mind going after him? He won't appreciate our company but maybe he does not mind yours."

"I will make sure he eats dinner", Elladan forestalled his mother's next words and smiled before he nodded and left to find his twin.

* * *

Elrohir looked around and as he saw nobody in the room, slowly opened his shirt. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, or more precisely, on the scars etched into the right side of his chest. AT: Alcanor Thranduillion. The two letters had not faded in all this time. Not even his Adar the great healer Lord Elrond had known why. Elrohir thoughtfully traced the lines with his fingers. The beautiful face of Princess Eyaenne appeared before his eyes. He smiled sadly and felt his heart ache in his chest. No matter how hard he tried, he could not forget her. More than that, he still loved her. It had not even taken a day for him to fall for her and he had caused her death. The moment he had set eyes on her he had known that she was 'the one'.

He owed King Thranduil, he owed Crown Prince Alcanor and the other Princes and the Princess of Mirkwood. In return, he had not even offered as much as an apology.

"Elrohir?" a very familiar voice asked carefully.

"Yes, Elladan?", Elrohir asked emotionless and redid the buttons of his shirt, glancing at the scars one last time before he hid them underneath the fabric.

"Are you alright, muindor?" Elladan asked and stepped next to him, sorrow in his posture. _Brother_.

"I feel as if I have to pay them back. They could have killed me. By the Valar, had our positions been reversed, I would have killed them or at very least imprisoned them for years to come. I have to pay them back."

"How long has this been on your mind?"

"Many years", Elrohir admitted, turning to face his brother. "I have not even offered an apology. I have not stood before Thranduil. I have not told them how my heart aches for what I caused."

"We will help Mirkwood, Elrohir. We will be a constant diversion south of the wood."

"I feel that is not enough. It helps. The Valar know, I feel better than I have in a very long time. Yet I still feel I have to face them. Planning all this … It just showed me how little I did to make up for Eyaenne's death."

Elladan opened his mouth but closed it without a word leaving his lips. No matter how hard he thought about it, he could not refute Elrohir's feelings with arguments clad in nothing but words.

"I need to go to Mirkwood, Elladan", the scarred elf declared. Elladan stared and shook his head.

"Please tell me, that by your words you mean you will fight in the southern part of the forest against orcs and not that you intend to walk on the Old Forest Road to the stronghold of the king. This is madness, Elrohir."

"I have to go. And at the moment, Mithrandir will be with the king. Hopefully he will stop Thranduil to do anything too painful."

"You cannot go!"

"I will go, Elladan! And you will not stop me!"

"Then I will come with you!"

"No, you won't! I won't allow it!"

"You can't hinder me!"

"I have to do this alone, muindor. I will not have you pay for my sins and I will not let my sins go unpunished. I have to do this if I ever hope to find peace in my heart."

"What about Nana and Ada? What if Thranduil throws you into his dungeons? What if you never return?"

"Nana and Ada will understand. Eventually they will understand. I seek for forgiveness. Only King Thranduil and his children can give me that. Until then, whether I am in a beautiful garden with starlight above me, or in an elven cell won't be much of a difference. I do not believe the king to be made of stone. He will see my sincerity …. Hopefully, at least."

* * *

The Darkness pressed on Legolas' inner light with such force it caused pain additionally to the pain of the wounds which marred his body. He had no sense of orientation whatsoever. Several hours ago he had stood up on shaking legs with the help of the tree which held him upright. With one last look on his loyal comrades he had whispered his apologies before stumbling away. It had just been impossible for him to remain there, so close to his patrol and stare at their corpses and dead eyes. He could not bear it and the guilt, which riddled his thoughts, did not help him defend himself against the Darkness around him.

Now he was stumbling through the woods, leaning heavily against dark trees and leaving a trail of blood behind him. He did not know where he went and so without knowing it, he ventured back the way he came. With every step he took he left the border to safety further behind and instead of stumbling into his father's expecting, secure and strong arms he was only embraced by cold, stiff air.

Legolas coughed and blood wetted his lips. He leaned heavily against a black-barked tree and his legs gave away underneath him as he slumped to the ground. His vision blacked out and the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him was a voice, dark and wise as if it belonged to a being that had seen the beginning of the world and had defied all the hardship life presented.

"What is this? A wood elf under my heavy boughs? Well, this is a surprise ….."

* * *

** Please review!**

**Many thanks to my beta Jaxzan Proditor**

** 8839:** I am glad you the chapters do not disappoint and that you seem to like the story so much :) Thank you. Yeah, Legolas just lost everything and yet he still keeps going on even though he wishes nothing but to be dead too. NZ was great. Going to NZ was the entire reason why i started writing fanfiction, because usually I write in german, but I didn't want to have to handle two diffrent languages at the same time, so I started writing in english

**bettsam0731**: Well, I guess here is another one. Honestly, I do not plan cliff hangers, they just kinda happen!

**wenduo:** Yeah, the scene with Gandalf was kinda pretty fun to write, especially because of the discussion between Thranduil and Alcanor going on. Guess Gandalf had not the slightest, what the hell was going on

**LilianeSnape:** Thank you very much! Including those misunderstandings was pretty fun :)

**Guest:** You are kidding me, right?

**Nako13yeh:** Glad you liked it :) Thranduil is pretty determined to save his child, but we all know I won't be making it easy for him :) Oh, I guess this here is another cliffy, eh? Sorry :) They kinda just happen

**allee8246**: It would indeed be gross. The situation I put Legolas in is one of my biggest nightmeres! I wanted to show that death is disgusting and not as heroic and especially clean as some books make you think. Thank you very much! I love Alcanor as well and I am glad you conquer! Sorry, because of the cliffy, and sorry, but here sorta is another one :/

**FP3**: I understand that it is a bit gory and I completely agree! Hope I did not put you off too much :) I kinda did not want to write a massive argument between Gandalf and Thranduil because I think they respect each other, even though they might not show it all the time :)

**Wicked Misty**: Thank you very much! The reaction was pretty slim so far, but that is because they are all way to worried about Legolas

**My-Little-Poison-Secret:** Thank you very much! It might be a few more chapters until than but I try my best to finally get him to Rivendell

**Brightpath:** I try to! So far, no luck though! :) Thank you very much for your review, you made my day

**careless7:** Thank you very much for dropping a review, I highly appreciate it. And I am happy to see you enjoy the story, please keep reading!


	17. 17: This is war

** Merry Christmas everyone! **

* * *

Elrohir eyed the trees suspiciously. He had been wandering the Elven Path for one day before he had come to a destroyed bridge. He cursed himself for not bringing rope but he just had not expected to need it. Had it been any other river, he might have decided to swim across, however he knew of the enchantment this black water bore. So he had strayed off the path, searching for a way to cross. He had found a tree whose branches reached out nearly to the other side and he had used it to jump across. Now he was searching for the other side of the path.

Elrohir was no wood elf yet even he heard the trees groan and shift. Something was wrong, he was sure of it! He looked anxiously over his shoulder and as he turned back to face forward, he instantly stopped dead in his track as narrow arrowheads were aimed for his chest and neck. Ten elven warriors stood absolutely silently beneath the thick foliage, their faces set. The only thing moving was their hair as it got caught by a gentle breeze passing underneath the trees.

Carefully Elrohir rose his hands in the air to symbolise he was no threat. He flinched as suddenly someone took his weapons and noticed that another warrior had jumped to the ground.

"I am Elrohir, Elrondion from Rivendell. I have come to speak to your king", Elrohir explained.

"We know who you are", one of the elves answered and all soldiers lowered their bows on his signal. Interested Elrohir listened to the discussion between the Mirkwood elves. They seemed to disagree on what to do with him. Something was off! Elrohir had expected to be greeted with anger and threats, but these soldiers seemed anxious and almost annoyed to see him. As if he was an inconvenience instead of the elf who had killed their princess.

"We will bring you to the stronghold", the leader finally declared, silencing the rest of the group. Those were the last words to be spoken for the entire day. The soldiers communicated solemnly through hand signals and bird songs. These songs rang eerily and loudly through the woods. The wood elves seemed to be in a hurry though they took careful attention of their surroundings. They behaved so very unlike the wood elves Elrohir had encountered the last time he had visited the Great Forest. It was almost scary. The Silvan elves stopped every few hundred meters to put their hands on the bark of one of the trees, silently communicating with the ancient beings whose voices were soundless to Sindar and Noldor alike. They stopped for a few minutes every couple of hours for some food but never long enough to actually rest properly.

Night crept into the forest and Elrohir began stumbling over hidden roots more and more often. He was not accustomed to the complete and utter darkness under the thick foliage and did not know the forest. Had they been in Rivendell, he would not have had such issues as he was accustomed with the nature around him in the Hidden Valley.

Finally, after many hours of tiring walking, they stopped for the last remaining hours of the night. The Mirkwood elves climbed on trees to find their rest and only left a few guards with Elrohir who were focusing on the forest instead on him.

Something most definitely had changed in the Great Kingdom and Elrohir reasoned that the infestation of the forest by dark beings and spirits must have increased immensely over the last few hundred years. His mind was plotting how the Noldor could help the apparent dire situation.

Even though he was incredible tired after an exhaustingly long and taxing day he had trouble drifting off to sleep. His eyes were wide open but no starlight found its way through the thick roof above his head and so even dreams eluded his mind and his sleep was without the elven spirit of dreams.

* * *

Iarith stood on a high balcony looking over the forest. She had been watching how the small army led by her father and siblings had filed out of the courtyard in front of the massive mountain gates and had left in southern direction. Here, in Mirkwood's heart, the birds still sang happily and their song stood in a stark contrast to the heavily armed elves who left to ride to war. Since when she had not been able to move, she had found herself transfixed to the spot. Her siblings were out there! Legolas was in danger, maybe even dead! She worried herself sick about him! And now her other siblings and her Adar were heading south as well. Meanwhile, she was utterly useless and stuck to the fortress in the side of the mountain. She did not contribute anything! She should be out there with everyone else searching for her baby brother. She was so absolutely useless. She had taken fighting lessons so why did Thranduil forbid her to come? She could defend herself.

Decision made, Iarith turned and her determined steps carried her outside towards the stables. She would not remain here whilst the rest of her family was fighting for their lives! After a moment of hesitation Iarith took an abandoned green cloak which must belong to one of the guards. She pulled it around her fragile frame, successfully hiding all signs of who she was. With the light sword at her side, she mounted her loyal stallion. After pulling the cowl over her head and deep into her face, she gave the horse the spurs and stirred it south. Her body was tense and she expected to be called upon by a guard at any second, but nothing happened. She passed one of the lines were she knew guards to be stationed. Nothing happened. A smile spread slowly over her fair features. Now all she had to do was to catch up with the army. That would not be as easy as it sounded. All elves knew the forest and as they did not travel as one huge group but many small ones they were just as swift as most patrols. Therefore it could easily take two or three days until she caught up to them. However, she was sure it would still be far away of the southern border and she would not be in any real danger.

* * *

Elrohir followed the stern warrior into the gigantic halls of the underground elven fortress. Awe stood upon his brow for he had never seen anything like it. Elven beauty mixed with underground architecture was indeed a sight to behold.

They had come past many patrols during the last two days and the son of Elrond was now sure that Mirkwood had gone to war. There simply was no other explanation for the tensed alertness and the number of armed elves running around. He also had come to understand his father's words: The elves of Mirkwood were less wise but more dangerous. They acted more quickly and based on raw feelings (Elrohir had gotten a fist to the face to proof that), even if he could not be sure if this was due to their nature or the tensed circumstances but as he had heard many a story, he was inclined to believe the first.

He had never been here, not here in the very heart of the woodland realm. He felt his heart quickening in his chest, beating strongly against his ribs. Nervously he tried to straighten out his collar before he caught himself. It wasn't as if he would be able to impress King Thranduil with his clothing. The strong elf wore some of the most delicate robes and armour he had ever seen and yet most of his subordinates were clad in the practical and quite often well-worn greens and browns of their people. King Thranduil did not make the mistake to judge a person by their looks.

Elrohir licked his lips as they drew closer to the throne. The seat was empty but the elven King probably would have him wait. Instead of the proud elven ruler were was another elf standing in front of the throne. Muddy boots and shabby leather clothes proofed the elf's Silvan heritage as much as the typical weapons and his hawk-like, wild gaze.

Elrohir stopped with his escort in front of the Silvan elf.

"Lord Elrohir", the wood elf greeted with a feral grin on his thin lips. "You requested to speak with the king. Why?"

The son of Elrond swallowed. This elf was creepy, his eyes seemed to see right through him. "I have come to turn myself in", he admitted with dry lips, his voice shaking ever so slightly. However, the Silvan's eyes narrowed. "I wish to apologize for the crimes I unintentionally committed and bear the consequences of them." Finally. It was said. It was finally out. Elrohir felt a weight lifted from his chest. Behind him he heard footsteps drawing closer but he did not bother turning around.

"What crimes exactly are you talking about?" he was asked suspiciously.

"I am talking about the death of Princess Eyaenne. It was my fault and I should be judged upon my sins. It was never my intention to cause her injure or death, however my actions have led to both."

"The death of Princess Eyaenne?" The elf's voice sounded disbelieving as he repeated Elrohir's words.

"I am not dead, Elrohir!" another voice sounded confused from behind his back. Elrohir felt his breath getting caught in his throat and he spun around only to stare at none other than a very alive Eyaenne.

* * *

Legolas woke slowly. The pain clouded his mind as he regained consciousness. He was aware of where he was before he was even fully awake. His battle-honed mind forced him to remember everything with elven precision. As he opened his eyes he realised he was lying on a thick layer of foliage close to a tree trunk which was even for Mirkwood's standards absolutely massive. He stared at the dark bark, remembering the voice which had rung in his mind just before he had fallen into the black.

"I am still here, little one" a deep voice rang in his mind and sent violent, painful shivers down his spine. Legolas gritted his teeth, taking deep, forceful breaths.

The trees south of the border had fallen into the darkness and yet the voice of the oak seemed light. There was no scorn and contempt in it, no dark curses muttered by an insane mind.

Slowly he reached out until his hand touched the rough bark. The light which suddenly seemed to burst from behind his eyes shocked him deeply and his mind soaked it in like a famished creature would shove food in its mouth.

"Slowly, little one. Your inner-light was almost extinguished", the ancient dark voice muttered gently and withdrawing from the shaking elf. Its light was still caressing Legolas but the elf was not drowning in it anymore.

"Who … who are you?" Legolas voice cracked with the simple question.

"I am Greenwood." The reply was simple and at the same time stupendous. Legolas found himself unable to speak as he stared at the giant oak, still lying on the ground unable to move. His hand slid weakly down the trunk and he rested his head back on the forest floor, closing his eyes exhaustedly while his mind struggled to understand what was going on.

"You are severely injured", the tree continued after several long minutes. The dark ominous voice sounded worried.

"Yes", Legolas panted. "My entire patrol was slaughtered by orcs. We stood no chance. My second-in-command saved my life for what it is worth. My wounds are deep and the pain nearly blinds me. Tell me, wise one, are we far from your light brothers?"

"I cannot help you. You are deep in the south and the others have grown dark. Only I am left for I am older and stronger and wiser than them. I cannot call your kinsmen for aid. The other light trees are far to the north, too far for me to reach them. I am sorry." The sorrow vibrating in the last sentence was almost overwhelming and Legolas could only acknowledge it as his world returned into darkness once more.

* * *

Alcanor pulled the reins of his loyal horse, bringing it to a stop underneath a big old oak. It was utterly dark as the night had crept up on them about an hour ago. Now it was truly too dark to dare continuing on safely without endangering the horses.

"We rest for the night", he yelled and dismounted disgruntled. They were so close to the border! Everything inside him, each fibre of his body strived to go on but he knew it to be a foolish and more importantly dangerous idea.

"Helfrin!" Alcanor stepped to stand next to one of the wood elves. Like surprisingly many Silvans, Helfrin too was unable to speak the Sindarin tongue, even though he understood quite a bit. "Take two others and ride to King Thranduil. He should be no more but an hour behind us. Tell him we have stopped for the night, even though I expect he will have done the same by now." Alcanor ordered calmly, using the Silvan tongue as he had no trouble speaking it, indeed preferring it over Sindarin.

The army of three hundred soldiers travelled in several groups instead of one big one which helped to keep them mobile. Each member of the royal family led one of these groups and experienced patrol leaders had taken charge over the remaining ones. Roewen was taking over Eyaenne's group until the she-elf would join them. Alcanor hoped that would happen sooner rather than later as he did not wish for his sister to travel alone for much longer.

Helfrin nodded, however he disagreed: "I will go alone. I will walk over the trees and not be in need of company or assistance. You need the soldiers here in case of an attack, even though I cannot feel any darkness lingering here." Trusting the wood elf, for Alcanor knew him to have the experience to know what he was doing, the proud perhereg warrior simply nodded. As one of the royal line he was more sensitive towards his surroundings, feeling it and being aware of it even more than most wood elves, who were able to connect with the forest in a way no Sindar would ever comprehend.

"Be ever watchful and listen to your friends' whispers", Alcanor warned and referred to the trees.

After Helfrin ran off, the Crown Prince quickly arranged for guards. After a meagre meal consisting of dried rations and nuts as well as a bite of lembas bread he lay down und willed himself to sleep: He would need all his strength for the following day. Tomorrow, they would finally reach the boundary. Six days after the first injured soldiers had stumbled back into the Realm of King Thranduil. Two days before Legolas and his patrol, as well as the others, were due to be back. Alcanor send one last prayer to all Valar who were willing to listen before his silver orbs glanced over with elvish sleep.

* * *

King Thranduil sat on a fallen log close to the small fire in the middle of their camp. In his hands was a very accurate map of the area. Daeros had drawn it, just like all maps Thranduil ever used. He angled it towards the fire so he could see more clearly as he traced the remaining path to the border with his ice blue eyes. Loud yells teared him out of his thoughtful silence he jumped to his feet.

"What is happening?", he demanded to know.

"There is fighting north of our position, hir-nin!", came a hurried answer as the elf already ordered soldiers to join the fight.

"All groups are either south or to the east or west", Thranduil disagreed.

"I know, my lord. Yet there is fighting nonetheless."

Curious as to what might have caused the fight and who was fighting in the first place, Thranduil swung himself on the back of his horse and gave it the spurs. He passed several running elves and he heard several Silvan hurrying through the trees above his head. As he drew nearer to the fight, he too could hear the screeching of spiders. A pierced yell of pain cut through the night and Thranduil suddenly felt his blood freeze in his veins. He would recognize this voice everywhere. It belonged to Princess Iarith, his foolish, gentle little girl.

* * *

**Please be so kind and leave a review! :D**

** I apologize for taking this long. I have not nor will I ever abandon this story. This will be finished one day. Until then I want to thank you all for your patience :) And I have the next chapter already written, so you will get it in 3 to 4 weeks**

**Thankx to my beta-reader Jaxzan Proditor**

**Scathach47: **Well, at least in one point you won't be left wanting :) Or maybe you will? Eyaenne is alive and Elrohir knows ... what will happen next?  
Thank you so very much for your review and I apologize for the long wait.

**3326freespirit: **Sorry, this chapter turned out to come later rather then sooner, did it? I apologize. Hope you still enjoy it. Things are happening fast in the story right now, so let's see where it'll take us

**wenduo: **I actually were not even considering the Brown wizard! I was playing witgh the thought to have a she-ent in Mirkwood but abandonned it because I wasn't quite sure. Thank you very much for your constant reviews. They make my day every single time!

**Ireland2112: **I hope you are even more excited to see this chapter. Not quite a family reunion though ... More like the opposite. You like it nonetheless?

**Lord Illyren: **Thank you so very much for your review! I hope you will continue reading this story though it took me ages to update (usually I am doing at least slightly better than this) Tell me what think and please continue reading and forgive the time it took to update

**Smileyfaceofevil: **(- this name still is great. Makes me smile every time I read it :D ) Well, actually I do have a beta -reader and he is pretty good too. Is there a mistake I am making on a regular basis?  
This chapter has a lot of diffrent plot ends going on and you are right, a lot of stuff is happening and the plot thickens. Tell me what you think and thank you so very much for your reviews!

**seth42: **You are back! ... and then I was gone ... sorry. I AM BACK THOUGH! I apologize for the long wait especially after the 'evil' end of the last chapter. Legolas still is in heaps of trouble but starting with the next chapter a lot of the stories focus will slowly shift to Legolas.  
Thank you very much. Reading your review again reminded me that I did not even mention Gandalf in this chapter ... well, he is not the main character so it shoudl be alright I guess :) I hope you liked this Elrohir bit here too

**Dragon flam: **Well, I am glad you were kidding, otherwise my head would have rolled and there would have been no further chapters at all! Was this worth the wait? It won't be this long until the next chap, I swear!

**Brightpath2: **Not quite the direction of Rivendell, I guess. He kinda only got himself further into trouble. Will Elrohir and Legolas meet again? Yes. How? Not telling. When? Not telling :D

**Roomsy: **Thank you very much for your review. They encourage me to keep writing. Here is the next chapter, enjoy! I would love to know what you think. Was it worth the long wait? Please leave me a review and I will continue this story :D (Yes, this is blackmail ... And? ;) )

**Horsegirl01: **Thank you for your kind review. I will not leave it hanging! It's be great to have you as one of my readers. Enjoy this story, keep reading and reviewing :) Thanks a lot, you keep me writing!

**Guest: **I absolutely have not. I admit it took me a long while but life is busy. You made me weak for just one moment. I was so close on updating this chapter earlier only because of your review though it always was intended for Christmas. Thank you so very much for your kind review! It helped me a lot as it motivates me heaps to read how much people like this story.

**kei:** Thank you very much! I hope you keep reading and reviewing! I am glad you are enjoying it


	18. 18: One dead, one alive

**I apologize beforehand. I hope noone will be too mad at me. And yes, I am cruel ... sorry **

* * *

A bestial roar of pain echoed in the forest. King Thranduil knelt in the mud, his strong arms enveloping the lifeless form of his youngest daughter. Her blood sparkled silvery in the moonlight which had sneaked its way through the layers of leaves.

"Noooooo!" Thranduil's cries of agony made everyone shiver. It was so unexpected. Iarith was supposed to be safely in the stronghold and yet he was holding her dead body against his chest, her brilliant silver eyes staring sightlessly into the distance. He wanted to fade. To give up life and just have the pain stop. He had nearly faded when he had lost his beloved wife. Losing one of his children, he simply could not endure the pain. He began rocking back and forth with his daughter in his arms as his tortured wails sounded cruelly loud through the cool air.

"Iarith!" another cry of shocked pain mingled with his wails and Falin skidded to his knees next to him. He broke in sobbing tears, his hands shaking and unable to do anything but stare.

"Ada, is she … is she…" the elf found himself unable to finish his sentence and instead big silver eyes stared pleadingly at the strong frame of King Thranduil. "Ad- … Ada?" Falin stammered then his words there not only met by utter silence but no reaction at all. Instead the icy blue eyes were staring unbelieving down at the body of his dead sister. Falin's hand trembled as he leaned over to close the sightless silver eyes, tears falling from his cheeks and wetting the soft skin.

"Ada, please say something!" Falin begged. His sister was dead. Iarith was dead! Why had she not just listened to his father's threats, why had she ridden after them? Why had she not stayed when Thranduil had ordered her to? Why did she have to die when they all had tried so hard to keep her save? She was so innocent and pure and now she was dead. It was so unexpected. No-one had been worrying about her. They all had been focused on reaching the border, had prepared themselves for the possibility that Legolas was dead or injured. Instead Iarith had been murdered by spiders in the dead of the night.

Confusion was spreading in Falin's mind and he found himself unable to focus. His thoughts jumped from memories with Iarith to her bloodied figure in his father's arms. Without realising it, he slowly went into shock, his mind simply trying to deny what his eyes showed him. This was the only reason why he could push Iarith in the back of his mind for a few more minutes. Instead, he could see the light fading were they stood and knew his Ada was dying too.

"ADA!" Falin screamed and again there was no reaction. "No, Ada, please, you cannot fade! Ada please! ADA! I need you! Please!" Falin started begging his father and yet once again he was simply not heard.

His face a grimace of pain, Falin lent forward hugging his father in a desperate attempt to force him to stay.

"She is dead", Thranduil's voice was rough and without the beauty which normally adored it.

"Don't fade, Ada! I need you. Legolas needs you! Tithen-las needs us", Falin begged.

"I won't Falin, I promise." The king's words sounded weak and shaken but he dragged himself to his feet, forcing his son to let go of him. He pulled Iarith's body into his strong arms and carried her gently towards his horse. The elves who had gathered around him silently got out of his way, watching him with wide eyes.

"I love you, Iarith. I love you so much!" Thranduil was not sure whether he had spoken the words or if they had remained in his mind as he looked down at the small light bundle in his arms. He could still remember the day he had held his beautiful little girl in his arms for the first time. He lifted her slightly so he could press a wet kiss upon her elegant brow. She was so beautiful. She always had a smile on her lips and stars shining vividly in her eyes. Thranduil bit his lip until it drew blood to stop himself from sobbing as he stared at the lifeless face, knowing he would never hear his daughter's laughter again, never hear her voice and never see her eyes flashing in anger in an argument. Oh, he loved her so much. And he had not told her in such a long time. And now she was dead.

"Focus on Legolas, Ada!" Falin said hoarsely as he realised his father had once again stopped moving, consumed by his pain. He felt like betraying his sister by saying these words, as if she was less important than Legolas. But Iarith would want him to do it, would want him to make sure Legolas was found. In this moment the shock finally set in as he began to fully comprehend what had happened. Iarith was dead. Falin stopped dead in his tracks and in the next moment, he collapsed into a heap on the ground while tears ran over his face and his body was shaking with sobs.

* * *

Eyaenne dismounted and ran towards the gigantic halls. It was eerily silent in the courtyard and the Princess was sure: Whatever had happened for her to be called back this abruptly had forced her king to take swift actions. Presumably they had already ridden out to face whatever danger was approaching. Therefore she ran despite the tiredness in her limbs and forced her mind to stay sharp and alert. The guards opened the doors for her when they saw her coming and she sped into the gigantic hall of the throne room. Even of the king had left, she would at very least meet a member of the council here who could answer her questions.

She slowed down to a quick walk as she neared the throne and began catching her breath. She recognized the wild wood elf Jeras even from the distance. The elf facing him wore a deep blue tunic and long dark brown hair was falling over the collar. The great acoustics carried the spoken words towards her:

"I have come to turn myself in."

Eyaenne's eyes furrowed in confusion. Was this elf the reason for what happened? What else would he turn himself in for? Curiously she approached the platform. Jeras piercing eyes found hers for a moment but he did not acknowledge her otherwise.

"I wish to apologize for the crimes I unintentionally committed and bear the consequences of them."

Somehow the elf seemed familiar to Eyaenne and she closed the last remaining steps. The way the elf held himself, his soft dialect… The princess eyes widened in surprise as she realised the stranger was no other than the Noldor Lord Elrohir. Jeras spoke the question which was resting on tip of her tongue and Eyaenne waited tensely for an answer

"I am talking about the death of Princess Eyaenne. It was my fault and I should be judged upon my sins. It was never my intention to cause her injure or death, however my actions have led to both."

"The death of Princess Eyaenne?" The Silvan elf caught her eyes and his brow furrowed.

"I am not dead, Elrohir!" She protested without thinking, her confusion colouring her voice. Elrohir span around, his grey eyes wide with shock.

He was handsome, Eyaenne admitted to herself once more. She recalled the single kiss they had shared in the middle of the battlefield. And the pain which had erupted in her chest. Now he stood here, ready to face her father for having caused her death. Nobody had told him she had not succumbed to her injuries, that much was obvious. But the pain in his eyes and stance let her know how much blame and guilt had rested upon the strong shoulders.

For many years she had wondered just how true that kiss had been. She had thought of him as a cruel elf who had taken advantage of her in order to kill her. Several times she had spoken to Legolas, for the little elf had come to the conclusion that Elrohir had not intended any harm. Yet, she had always wondered. Had a spider caused the painful injury or an elven dagger? A spider's pinchers could often be as sharp as any dagger and even the form was surprisingly similar. Therefore, the wound itself had not answered this question which kept ghosting through her thoughts. And now she could see the truth in his grey eyes.

"Eyaenne", a soft breath came over his lips.

The perhereg smiled gently before turning to Jeras.

"What happened?" was all she asked, immediately switching into the Silvan tongue.

"The king and your siblings have already ridden out. Your sister has vanished, we assumed she followed them", Jeras began slowly, purposely giving her this information first before he answered her question: "We received note that the patrols south were attacked. Thranduil has called to arms and is heading for the border."

"Legolas!" Eyaenne's eyes widened with shock and before the wood elf could say any more, she spun around and ran.

Elrohir made a move to follow her but a knife at his exposed throat stopped him.

"Eyaenne!" the Silvan yelled after her. "What about the Noldo?"

"Let him leave!" she answered without actually caring what happened with Elrohir. And while she left the castle in a hurry and set out to catch up with the small Mirkwood army, the feral wood elf slowly lowered his weapon.

"She is alive" Elrohir murmured, still not fully grasping the fact.

"Yes", Jeras answered. Curious, he looked the Noldo up and down as Elrohir stared overwhelmed towards the end of the giant hall there Eyaenne had disappeared. It surprised the Mirkwood warrior to see how clearly Elrohir displayed his wonder and relief.

"Follow me. I will show you to your room."

"How long will it be?" the son of Elrond asked.

"How long will what be?" Jeras asked harshly.

"How long will you hold me in your cells?"

"Princess Eyaenne ordered for you to be set free. You will be escorted back to the border in two days. That should give you enough time to rest yourself for the journey ahead."

With that he strode away from the platform, hearing Elrohir's footsteps follow him after a short hesitation.

"She is not dead", he heard the Noldo mutter and a sly smile spread upon his lips.

* * *

They had intended to go to war. Yet before they had even reached the border, let alone fight a battle one single death had paralyzed the small army. Roewen could not help but think it was a good thing that Legolas had vanished. Had he not, King Thranduil would have faded within the hour, the unexpected death too much for his already heavily burdened fëa, and all of Mirkwood would have followed him. For this thought she hated herself. Legolas held a very special part within her heart, not simply because he was the baby brother of both her best friend and her lover, but mainly because Legolas was such a brilliant spirit. The youngest Thranduillion was kind and of a quiet joyous strength. His laughter was loud and clear, as generously given as his thoughtful advice. Often it had been Legolas who brightened her spirit and brought her out of reverie after an eventful patrol, both as a child and as a seasoned warrior.

It had been downright cruel to watch the young Elfling being trained for the ugly work of warfare for Legolas was so pure and his light so bright. Yet even as an Elfling he had always known the heavy burden of knowledge and had often trembled under its weight. The trees had pleaded to the prince and the prince had been unable to ignore the stories, both dark and light.

"What is it?" Alcanor's deep, soothing voice broke her thoughts. "Why are you crying, my love?"

"I am sorry, Alcanor, so sorry", Roewen said and looked up into his silver eyes. She took a deep breath: "Iarith is dead."

"What are you talking about?" Alcanor's brown furrowed with worry and fear shone openly in his eyes.

"She … She followed the army. Three hours ago, spiders killed her before she managed to catch up. Thranduil … your father was too late to save her. Your sister is dead."

"Tell me this is some cruel joke", Alcanor pleaded quietly.

Instead of an answer, Roewen simply offered her hand in comfort, pulling her lover into a gentle embrace.

Though Alcanor buried his face in Roewen's auburn hair, no tears trickled down his perfect face. Iarith could not be dead.

"How do you know?" he asked after several seconds.

"Helfrin told me. He had intended to tell you, but I thought …" Roewen fell silent.

"What about Ada? He found her?"

"A Silvan soldier heard the spiders at first and alerted his comrades and section commander. They were going to investigate. Thranduil followed. Iarith was killed before his eyes but he was too far to help her in any way. Helfrin told me the king slaughtered the spiders. He said he never saw anyone fight the way your father did in order to save her."

His arms around her tightened ever so slightly.

"How is he?"

"Apparently he was close to fading and –"before she could finish Alcanor pulled away with wide, scared eyes. Never before had she seen her strong warrior so utterly scared.

"Falin managed to stop him, Alcanor", the female warrior declared quickly. The fear was replaced by deep, unearthly sadness and a tiny amount of relief. The Crown Prince hesitated before he stepped once more into her embrace, needing this comfort as his heart was being torn in two.

"What orders did Ada give?" he asked after several minutes of silence. His voice was barely more than a soft murmur, so close to her pointed ear.

"I do not think Thranduil is in any condition to give orders, Alcanor. He fights the fading and mourns Iarith."

"What about Tithen-las?" Again it had taken several minutes before the Crown Prince spoke up again having to come to terms with what was said.

Roewen found herself crying harder and just shook her head unable to answer him.

"We have to go find Tithen-las", Alcanor said and his words broke with tears that were now rolled down his cheeks.

"We will find Legolas. We have to", was all Roewen managed as an answer.

* * *

He woke to an incredible thirst. His mouth was dry as sand and it hurt to swallow. A croaking sound escaped his raw lips and Legolas gasped for air. Panic washed over his battered body as he opened his eyes to darkness. Thick and heavy it pressed down on him. His heart beat to his throat. Desperately, he lunged forward and pressed his hand against the rough bark of the massive oak. Bright, beautiful light erupted before his inner eye and the panic receded as quickly as it had come. For one horrible moment he had thought he was once more alone, surrounded only by the dead bodies of his patrol and the threat of pain and cruelty hanging in the air.

"Calm down, little one", the tree which had introduced itself as 'Greenwood' soothed the wood elves flighty mind and bathed the injured elf in its light. Slowly, Legolas managed to catch his breath again which hurt in his chest and throat.

"Thirsty", he croaked and in the next moment he heard his saviour shift and groan as the ancient oak turned its branches. Water, which had been caught between layers of leaves, flowed down over branches and leaves until it rained down in a single small stream, hitting the forest floor near Legolas.

The wounded elf dragged himself over and collapsed on his back, opening his mouth to swallow the delicious cold water. It eased the pain in his throat and the world stopped turning around him. It also helped him to ignore the pain in his side which seemed to have caught fire the moment he had moved. He drank as much as he could before simply letting it trickle over his face as he thanked the great oak, which in return shifted once more to stop the small waterfall.

Legolas needed the water to replenish the huge amount of blood he had lost. Carefully Legolas began to fumble over his side. An arrow had impaled him, entering from the back on the pointy end sticking out of his stomach. The formerly white bandages were not only stiff with dried silvery-red elven blood and black orc blood, but also covered in dirt and other disgusting substances. Legolas could not tell whether or not his wounds had started bleeding again, but he did not dare take the bandages off for fear of even more grime entering his body through the open wounds.

He needed help. He so desperately needed help!

His left hand felt weakly for the old oak and he sighed as he touched it.

"I … need help or I will die", Legolas managed to tell his new friend through gritted teeth.

"I cannot help you with your injuries. I wish I could but I cannot. What I can do is teach you how to hide your inner light and send you on your way."

"You want me to dim my inner light?" Legolas gasped, shocked and made a move to scramble back.

"No, not dim, silly elf. Hide it. This way no dark creatures will sense your presence. You will have to make your own way through the forest and seek for aid. You will have to go soon. I sense your light extinguishing a bit with each passing second."

"Then teach me!" Legolas demanded.

* * *

**Please take the time to leave a short comment!**

**Thank you to my beta-readers Jaxzan Proditor and Swallow-Tailed Kite**!

**bella13446:** Thank you. Hope you are having a good start into the new year. At least the wait for ths chapter was a lot shorter as for the last

**RoboTitaness:** Thank you very much! That means a lot! Handling so many OCs and hving them be such important characters is always a risk for it is so easy to screw up.

**Lord Illyren:** Well, yes, all his children do know how to get hurt and Thranduil suffers with them like noone else. And as tortured as he is finds himself unable to show them how much they mean to him most of the time. And now he is nearly breaking ...

**wenduo:** Yes, that was the general idea: Legolas connection with nature is incredible strong. As a child he suffured under the whispers and the stories they told, of their fear he had to listen to everytime they cried out in despair or pain. And I also wanted to show that even though the wood elves are wild, they do have their honor and follow their king. Without a trial they would not punish the twins unless to protect their own directly!

**seth42:** Yeah, well I said I will SLOWLY focuse more on Legolas in order to get him better. I started but it will be another two chapters until then. Oh and the tree ... At first I thought it would be one of the ent-wives but that somehow did not work out very well. The 'I am Greenwood' is supposed to show the tree's age as it identifies with the forest itself and with a colletive. It is very ancient and wise and most importantly: It is light. The tree is not Mirkwood like the rest of the forest, but it still is part of Greenwood the Great

**Dragon flam:** Thank you so much, mellon-nin! I am very happy you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope the wait has not been too long, I have tried my very best

**Guest:** Thank you very much. Thranduil is very difficult for I want him to be aloof and somewhat like in the movies but at the same time I want him to love his children so dearly much. He has lost his wife and his children are his heart

**Wicked Misty:** Thank you. I hope you enjoyed this one as well! Please let me know what you think, especially of how Thranduil takes it

**Megan:** Thank you for your long review! I love those :D Yes, that is Legolas. Your idea is not quite my plan but I sounds promising :) You might have noticed already that I tried to display how little the Noldor actually know about the Mirkwood people and King Thranduil. They are definitely in for a few surprises. Next update is (hopefully) going to be in three weeks time. Don't promise though ;) Thank you for your support, please keep reviewing, makes my day

**Guest (ch6):** Thank you very much. I was thinking about writing a one-shot about little Legolas one time. What do you think?

**Guest (ch9):** Thank you so very much for your support! Those comments really brought me down for a while and it is great to have people encouraging me like you do

**Guest (ch10):** That is great! I love Thranduil and to know you start finding him interesting because of my interpretation of his character is great!

**Guest (ch17):** Hang on, Megan, is that you? Kinda got that review twice :) Well, thanks again

**Beccissss**: You are awesome, that review totally made my day :D Hope you enjoyed this chap and the wait wasn't too long. What do you think about Iarith?  
Oh, and I don't know why I do not have a thousand reviews. I think I should have though! Thanks for the review for the other story as well :) You are great

**Guest (ch16):** Ok, I do agree, that does not quite fit. Next time I am bored and got heaps of time on my hands I will go back to it and change it. Oh, and with Alcanor is just nerves. He is so stressed out he behaves in a way he never normally would. In his case. Laughing about serious issues. I admit I have that and it makes for really awkward situations :/ :D

**Guest (ch17)**: It wasn't three weeks. It actually was three weeks minus one day. Mainly because I did not want to study and instead updated this story but still :)

**kei:** Thank you a lot! I appreciate the feedback!

**Brightpath2**: I am sorry? Hope you aren't too mad with me for what I did in this chap... I will try to keep the work to standard ;) DId you like this chap? Even though I was being a tease?

**Aearvir:** Thx! I found fighting scenes incredible difficult in the beginning so this means a lot to me! Please keep reading and reviewing!


	19. 19: Orc in an elf's skin

**The first part of this story is a bit like the last chapter, I apologize for that but I did not know how to include the character without doing so. Hope you enjoy! And wish me luck for my exam! **

* * *

Thranduil's noble face showed a look of deep pain as he kneeled before his dead daughter. He kissed her brow, tears streaming over his face.

„I will take you home, iell-nin. You will rest in peace." _My daughter. _His voice was lacking all emotion as he spoke to her.

„Ada?" Daeros asked and his voice was raw with tears. „I do not know what to do", the perhereg admitted desperately, feeling helpless and vulnerable. Thranduil stood as soon as he noticed.

_Luineth, my love, please help me,_ Thranduil begged his late wife silently. _I need you! You would know what to do and here I am utterly useless to our beautiful children, letting them fall into despair. _Every breath he took reminded him of Iarith's death.

_You know exactly what to do, my handsome king and husband_, a silent voice answered in his head. It seemed so real that he let himself fall into the warmth of her memory. Even in death Luineth still led his path and kept him alive. _Show them you will always be there and do not dare to do otherwise. _

Listening to Luineth's ghostly voice, a slight tug of his lips at her last threat, he simply stepped up to Daeros. Slowly he drew his son in his arms. He kissed Daeros' silver hair.

„It hurts, does it not?" he asked evenly. The warrior nodded against his chest and so did Arahen, Alcanor and Falin who still stood by their brother's side. Seeing them standing before him so close of falling apart was the only reason the king did not fade. He wanted to, the Valar knew, and yet he could not. How could he possibly fade if his children needed him more than ever_?_ And Luineth would have none of it but beat him back into the world of the living for him to stand beside their children. "You may accompany me back to the stronghold to bury Iarith if you so desire. However, if you feel strong enough to fight, I will ask you to search for Legolas. Legolas is –"

Before he could finish the flap of the tent was suddenly and violently thrown open. Eyaenne froze as soon as her brown eyes settled on Iarith's form.

"Nay", she whispered, staring wide-eyed at the still form. As Thranduil still held a crying Daeros in his arms Alcanor quickly stepped forward restraining his only living sister as Eyaenne started to scream and rage. It took more than an hour for her to stop and for them to be able to explain what had transpired. They had hardened their hearts against the possibility that one of them might succumb to the spiders and orcs and find their deaths. After all, all of them regularly went on dangerous patrols. However, they had not hardened their hearts against the possibility of Iarith's death however, which made it only more painful and completely immobilizing. She had never been a warrior. She had always been too gentle and delicate to be one.

"I will go south to seek for Tithen-las", Alcanor said after several minutes. _Little leaf_.

"My heart is too heavy in my chest. I cannot go. I would endanger my life and those of others", Daeros said as once again silent tears adored his cheeks. This entire hour he had clung to his father, surprised of the support he was freely given as Thranduil normally was aloof and did not show his affection. His Ada squeezed him gently, showing he understood all too clearly.

"I have to fight", Falin said. "I do not feel in the position to take command but I cannot return to the stronghold without Legolas. I cannot dare think to lose both of them. I must search for Legolas!"

"I will make them pay!", Eyaenne yelled angrily. Thranduil eyed her carefully, ignoring the pain in his chest.

Arahen decided to accompany Daeros. The two brothers – who were more like twins most of the time – needed each other in this situation, a situation which they all handled differently. The king thought long about his next move, afraid to make a mistake which might cost lives. He had ordered so many warriors on patrols and into battle. And before now he had had no idea of the pain the parents of the fallen must have felt. How many had lost their lives due to mistakes he had made?

"If Arahen and Daeros take Iarith back home, I will remain here. You will lay her to grave under her mother's tree. Tell her for me, how much I love her and how sorry I am. I wish I could carry her to grave myself but if I know her body is safe under your watchful eyes I will have to seek for Legolas. I will take one hundred and thirty soldiers. Alcanor, you will as well. Eyaenne and Falin, you will both be under Alcanor's command. And Al, I trust you to not make any rash decisions. Whatever happens, stay safe! All of you!"

* * *

It had been surprisingly easy to learn how to hide his inner light. Instead of letting it shine all around him, he focused it inside. His own light shone upon his fëa and kept it alive while at the same time it blocked the darkness surrounding him. No heavy blanket pressed against his spirits anymore and Legolas sighed with relief.

"Thank you", he murmured, his hand still pressed against the rough bark.

"You are welcome, little elf. But you should go. I cannot lead your way from here on. You will have to find home on your own. And you mustn't linger any longer, for your strength is failing. Go now, little elfling, and be safe!", the tree urged gently.

Slowly, Legolas pulled himself on his feet. The world was swirling around him and he leaned heavily against his new friend. How was he supposed to ever make it? He could barely stand and the pain was already blinding him once more. He had not eaten enough food in days, only a few roots the Oak had provided. He had lost a huge amount of blood and he felt his wound opening up once more under the pressure of his movements. He would never make it. Tears sprung to his eyes but he was too exhausted to even cry. Instead he began stumbling north from one tree to the next, leaning heavily against their trunks.

His mind quickly became blank as the pain reached a level too high to endure. His brain simply refused to feel it anymore, refused to work at all. And so he was left with nothing as he continued to stumble on.

* * *

Glorfindel brought his horse to ride next to Elladan. The twin missed his brother immensely and the worry shone clearly in his eyes as the young Elrondion stared at the dark forest a few miles east. They had left crossed the mountains two days ago and were now following the Anduin to go south towards Lorien. Haldir and his elves had come with them to Imladris to collect the carts of necessary material. With the help of the Lorien archers the High Pass had not posed a dangerous threat. The carts slowed them down a lot though, especially at the steep path.

"What do you think King Thranduil will do?" Elladan asked as soon as Glorfindel was by his side. Surprised, the balrog-slayer rose an eyebrow before a satisfied smile spread over his thin lips. He had expected to find Elladan lost in thought but his young friend had just proven to him that he was completely aware of his surroundings.

"I do not know", the blond Noldo admitted. "I still do not know what happened all those years ago. Your brother feels responsible for Princess Eyaenne's death but I am not sure how valid this guilt is. Also, it will depend entirely on what Thranduil thinks. Prince Alcanor let us go, following Tithenlas' advice. There must be a good reason why he trusted this little elfling over his own instincts."

"If King Thranduil thinks Elrohir is responsible … will he be killed?"

"I think he will be granted a fair trial and a chance to tell his side of the incident. Thranduil might have a temper but he does not judge in a temper. He might curse and threaten but in the end he will calm down enough to make a fair decision. Elrohir might be their prisoner for many years." Worry furrowed Glorfindel's brow as well. Had he known what Elrohir had planned, he would have stopped the foolish warrior from returning to Mirkwood. "However I am certain Elrond will receive a letter in that case. If not from the king himself, then maybe from Prince Falin Thranduillion. He sent the note about Greenwood's fall as well. Even though I do not know him, he seems to be understanding of our side of the situation."

"I do hope so. I am afraid I will not see him again, Glorfindel", Elladan admitted.

For a few more seconds his eyes stayed glued at the distant forest, before it returned to the travelling group of elves. They were going slowly for the carts were loaded heavily with all necessities. Haldir and his archers were walking beside the carriages, laughing loudly about some jokes. They only had a few guards and could travel without being concerned: It was highly unlikely for them to be attacked, especially as the sun was shining brightly from a cloudless sky. At night, this was a different matter altogether.

* * *

Alcanor ran through the forest. He focused solemnly on the task of finding Tithen-las. The Darkness around him pressed even more heavily down on him than normally. Iarith's death had weakened his inner light immensely, but it was still strong enough to withstand the whispers of hatred and agony from the dark trees.

Eyaenne and Roewen followed closely behind, Falin stayed back a bit more in the midst of the warriors following their Crown Prince.

Suddenly the sound of flies caught Alcanor's pointy ears. He stilled instantly before changing direction. His run turned into a sprint. They were several miles away from the border and already had encountered orcs twice. The black blood showed on the silver blade of Alcanor's drawn sword.

"Slow down, Al!", Roewen yelled behind him but he bore her no mind. Instead the warrior she-elf sped up in order to come up beside him. She made to grab his arm and force him to slow down a bit. Her lover wrested himself free. The next minute he stumbled upon an area in the forest where the trees were pierced with several quarrel bolts and elven arrows. He stopped dead in his track before slowly, carefully continuing on. Roewen was instantly by his side, her bow in her hands and arrow on the thin bowstring.

One minute later they found decaying elven bodies. A wooden stretcher lay abandoned and empty on the uneven forest floor. The mossy carpet before it was disturbed and made clear that the injured elf upon the stretcher must have managed to crawl away.

Alcanor's heart beat in his neck and blood rushed in his ears. Afraid of what he would find he slowly lowered himself next to the rotting body, clad in Mirkwood browns and greens of a female archer. He stretched his gloved hand towards the lifeless form. It made a disgusting, wet noise as he turned it over. Gagging Alcanor covered his mouth and nose, leaning backwards. It took several deep breaths through his mouth before he could lean forward again to examine the body.

His heart came to an abrupt stop. He did not know the name of the she-elf, but he recognized the hair and the rare stone she wore as a necklace. This was the healer of Legolas' patrol. The elven corpses belonged to Legolas' patrol!

"Tithen-las!", he yelled and swayed as he came to his feet. He hurried over roots and fallen logs. Ignoring the disfigured bodies of orcs he searched for familiar golden hair among the dead, searched for clothes bearing the delicate stitching of the Royal Family of Mirkwood. Roewen blanched and she too started searching.

"He is not here", she said after a few minutes. Meanwhile the rest of Alcanor's army had joined them.

"Helfrin! Harias!", Alcanor spun around. "Take half of the soldiers and start to search. I will take the other half. We must stay close enough to come to each other's aid if necessary. We will cover more ground if we split up though."

The wood elf and the guard nodded and quickly ordered some warriors to them with sharp words.

"Let us go", Alcanor ordered. His eyes followed the few light traces before he led his warriors on. Soon there were no clear traces to be found and Helfrin and his warriors went one way and Alcanor and his siblings together with the rest of the warriors the other.

The silence was utterly tense. Eyaenne stayed in the trees and Roewen felt her friend's unease. Falin kept himself in the background as Alcanor stormed through the forest, his watchful eyes taking everything in. The only thing to be heard for a long time were the shuffling of dry leaves under their boots.

Suddenly, one of the Silvans called for a stop, pointing towards a trail of broken twigs and upheaved earth imprinted with the massive metal boots the orcs liked to wear.

They immediately changed their direction, following the trail the beasts had left. And soon the group was met with their bodies, shot down with elven arrows. They had come to a small clearing. Upon the sight which greeted them Roewen had to duck away as nausea hit her. Tears burned heavily in her eyes. There were so many. So many dead elves left between orcs.

"Tithen-las?", Alcanor begged, his voice small and disbelieving. Frantic he stepped to each single body until suddenly a cry of pure anguish was heard. Roewen looked up, her eyes wide with fear. Alcanor stood tall, a familiar dagger in his hand and he stared down at it.

"No, no, no…" he began whispering.

It was one of the warriors who found the body of an elf with golden hair. She kneeled down, unwilling to call out. The silver stitching around the neckline of his shirt was the only thing helping her identify what was left of the once beautiful, proud and so very alive prince of Mirkwood.

" –nin", she said slowly, already crying herself. "This is Legolas."

The next moment she was shoved away. Alcanor crouched down, looking upon the unidentifiable corpse of what he thought could only be his baby brother. Blond hair, the well-known bow still clutched in one hand, the royally stitched, blood soaked blue tunic upon the decaying body… In the minds of everyone present were was no doubt that this was what was left of Prince Legolas Thranduillion, youngest son of King Thranduil, their hope.

Sobbing Alcanor fell on his knees, wrapping his arms protectively around his stomach. He screamed with the pain tearing his soul apart. And suddenly the Darkness around them intensified, agglomerating around the bright aura of Alcanor's shaking frame, which became starkly visible. And then it bombarded the once so proud and strong Prince, beginning to tear holes in the white shield, scratching it away and then forcing down onto the unprotected figure.

Another scream, hoarse and full of pain. Alcanor fell to the forest floor, his body jerking and convulsing. Silver hair splayed out on the brown earth like a halo, while his harsh broke the surrounding silence.

The wood elves could do nothing but stare at the figure of their leader. Roewen had tried desperately to reach her lover's side but the Darkness held her back. No matter how hard she tried she was unable to even touch the tortured prince.

All elves stared at Alcanor, their eyes wide with uncontrolled fear. Many had drawn their weapons without knowing what to do with them.

From one moment to the other, all movement stopped. Instead only harsh breaths were heard. And then Alcanor opened his eyes. But it wasn't the silver orbs glowing with compassionate strength anymore. Instead his eyes glowed a dark red radiating nothing but intense hatred. Alcanor jumped to his feet, sword in hand. And then he attacked the closest warrior.

The elves were torn from their petrification as the silver steel clashed. Before she knew, Roewen was parrying a blow intended for her neck. Her eyes were large as she met the red gaze. This was not Alcanor, not the gentle elf warrior she had come to love. He forced her to defend herself once more, but the force behind his attack sent her stumbling backwards and falling to the ground. The next moment Alcanor turned and his lithe figure vanished between the trees, leaving the wood elves behind.

Orcs were elves once, Roewen remembered. Tortured and disfigured until their inner light fled them, leaving them cruel and afraid of the light with no love in them. Alcanor had become an orc, his soul too tortured to go on. The formerly silver eyes had changed into a deep scarlet red and his features were distorted in a sneer.

Roewen screamed upon realising that her lover was gone. Forever gone. Everything that Alcanor had been was now lost. She would never be able to marry the elf of her heart. They would never have children to call their own. Never! Never… Tears streamed over her face as her scream continued to ring through the darkened wood where the trees themselves seemed to mock her with their laughter.

Iarith was dead. Legolas was dead. Alcanor … he was as good as dead, all what was left of him was an empty shell, an orc in an elf's skin. And her hope was dead too. All of Mirkwood would fall…

* * *

**Please review! **

**Thanks to my betas Jaxzan Proditor and Swallow-Tailed Kite!**

**kei:** Thank you! The chapters are always around 3000 words. I am busy with exams at the moment but I will try to give you a longer one after that. Just for you

**FP3: **ehm ... I am sorry? I guess Thranduil will have to deal with a lot more

**Guest: **Sorry mate, weekly updates are impossible for me :P I try to do better though ... well, after exam time is over. Hope you don't feel to crushed if you feel for Thranduil, for that guy is absolutely devastated right now!

**Scathach67: **Thank you very much! I know there is some hard competition out there!

**Lord Illyren: **Well ... you kinda were on the right track. However, if you want a spoiler, there is always my other fanfiction :)

**Megan: **Don't apologize! There was an issue with the reviews around new years and noones review section was working anymore (got me pretty upset too) Thank you for your kind words and please: I love long reviews! They help me a lot as they tell me what people liked, what they did not like as much and your thoughts do inspire me as well. So, long reviews are definitely welcome here! I got my exams at the moment and sometimes I do get a writers block or just life going on, but I will never stop writing even if the updates are few and far in between.


	20. 20: A wounded wood elf

Glorfindel sighed. If they kept this pace, they would be at their destination in maybe a year. He was used to traveling lightly and quickly but this mission was something completely diffrent. Furthermore, Elladan was simply miserable. The Elrondion kept glancing at the impressive forest in the distance. The balrog-slayer knew he was thinking about his twin. Elladan's sombre mood influenced Glorfindel as both of the twins were very dear to him. He had known them all their lives and he too could not stop himself of worrying, even though he knew he would not be able to change anything with his worries.

Suddenly, Elladan straightened in the saddle, his grey eyes narrowing.

"Glorfindel!" he called sharply and instantly had the blond warrior's attention. Glorfindel followed Elladan's line of vision and he too stiffened as he saw movement at the edge of the forest. It took several minutes before a lone figure was distinguishable. Whoever it was walked away from the edge of the forest heading towards them.

"Haldir!" Glorfindel called and the blond march warden appeared at his side within moments. His eyes too were focused on the stranger before he called out orders for his archers to mount their horses.

Their attention stayed on the approaching figure and they waited for several minutes. As the stranger made no indication to sway in his way, Glorfindel ordered his companions quietly to ride over to investigate. The stranger was far enough from the forest as for it to be some sort of trap. Still, Glorfindel thoughtfully left more than half of the archers behind to secure the carts before giving the signal to ride out.

As they drew nearer it became clear that the person was wearing a blue tunic and black trousers.

"Elrohir!" Elladan suddenly laughed delighted and gave his horse the spurs. Glorfindel's eyes widened in disbeliefe and followed swiftly. As they drew nearer, it became clear that Elladan had indeed been right.

Elrohir raised his arm and waved in the air as he saw his brother drawing closer. His twin was off the horse and in his arms before he could react. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized how much pain he had cause in his short absence.

"Have you regained your senses, Elrohir?" Glorfindel yelled in relief mingled with a hint of anger. However, his blue eyes too shone with joy.

"Actually, I have not," Elrohir admitted guiltily.

"Well, I hope you do realise I will not allow you to go back into Mirkwood," Glorfindel replied sternly, thinking it was still the twin's goal to stand before King Thranduil of Mirkwood.

"I assure you, I have no intend to return there for now," Elrohir placated his old friend.

"Did you speak to the King?" Elladan asked, stepping back but keeping a hand on Elrohir's shoulder.

"I did not for he was not in the palace. From what I gathered he rode to war about five or six days ago."

"To war?" Glorfindel asked, his eyes narrowing as his mind began running through the possibilities.

"I do not know much more. Mirkwood's soldiers were not very talkative. However, their behaviour seemed to agree very much with the fact. It was frightening. They were so different than from last time. No jokes, no songs, not even a single smile. And let's face it: They weren't exactly cheery back than either! Instead they were tense and I could see the fear in their eyes. I am afraid the Darkness is much stronger than what we thought. The wood was so quiet it was scary."

"So what happened if you could not speak with the king?" Glorfindel pressed.

"I talked to a Silvan named Jeras. No idea what position he takes."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much," Elrohir hesitated, a wide grin spreading. "Eyaenne is alive."

"What!" Both Glorfindel and Elrohir sputtered.

"She is alive. I spoke with her. Just a few words before she suddenly ran off as if Morgoth himself was after her. Jeras must have told her about the war and that the king had gone. She ordered for me to be set free and Jeras did so without hesitation."

"She is alive?" Glorfindel asked wide eyed, his hand instinctively travelling to his own chest where two letter-shaped scars disfigured his otherwise clear skin. "But how?"

"I have no idea. She must have survived her injuries, only that nobody had told us. And all Roewen said than she delivered that single message was that it was, to a degree, Princess Eyaenne's own fault that she allowed me to kiss her. She did not say Eyaenne was dead. Looking back I come to see she was referring to her injury."

"How are you feeling about all this?" Glorfindel asked as he mounted his horse once more. Elladan sat quietly in front of his twin, content to simply listen.

"Delighted. She is alive! It is as if a heavy stone has been lifted from my heart. SHE IS ALIVE!" He yelled the last sentence loudly, a childish grin upon his face. Elladan laughed and his eyes shone with unlimited joy. It had been many years since Elrohir had seemed so happy and free, not weighed down by the terrible event. Glorfindel joined the laughter as well and as they returned to the group of travelling elves they brought the contagious joy with them.

Elrohir had completely changed. He was no longer was the brooding warrior who barely spoke a word, let alone jest or play a prank. Haldir had found himself face down in the dirt as a certain someone tied his shoelaces together. At first the march warden had been thoroughly confused before Elrohir and Elladan had broken into hysterical laughter.

Elrohir had long discussions with various members of their travelling group, his laughter often heard above their heads. Elladan's mood was better as well, his twin's state of mind effecting him as much as it always had.

Beside the fact that Glorfindel had only noticed in the last minute that his lavender soap had been switched with one to colour your hair blue, he was delighted to see Elrohir revert back to his happy self.

They followed the Anduin further south and on the flat terrain the carts did not slow them down as much as Glorfindel had feared. Only when they reached the bend of the Anduin did the group of merrily joking elves grow more sombre as the water now took them very close to the dark forest of Mirkwood. For the first time in many years, Glorfindel had a chance to look at the forest closely. They were quite far south by now and the changes in the formerly glorious wood were heartbreakingly obvious. The air seemed thick even from the distance, and the trees and moss seemed to form an almost impenetrable wall before them. Dangerous sounding noises reached their delicate ears every now and then. Elrohir focused on the wood, his posture reminding them of the stiff attitude he had held for so long but his eyes were still more alive.

Suddenly a twig broke and Glorfindel's eyes snapped forward, his quickly drawn blade catching the light of the sun. Surely the orcs were not bold enough to attack them in daylight? Instead his blue eyes glued on a figure stumbling out of the wood. The next moment the figure collapsed onto the ground. It was not an orc but instead, it seemed to be an elf.

"What shall we do?" Elrohir asked.

"I do not believe Thranduil still has patrols this far south" Glorfindel replied darkly. "Watch my back. If we are being attacked, flee!"

With that he dismounted and walked the remaining distance towards the towering trees, soon being swallowed by the shadows they casted. His eyes searched for movement behind the curtain of trees but everything seemed still. Carefully and slowly, Glorfindel stalked toward the figure on the ground, his blade clutched tightly in his hand, his body crouched down slightly in a fighting stance. Nothing happened as he approached the broken person. It was indeed an elf. Slowly, Glorfindel kneeled next to the unconscious elf. Reluctantly, he lowered his eyes, unable to watch both the forest and the figure on the ground simultaneously.

The male elf wore nothing but sturdy leather trousers with formerly golden metal protecting his shins above well-worn boots. The belt around his slim hips bore only a scabbard. The elf's torso was wrapped up in bandages, brown with earth and dirt and soaked with both dried and fresh blood. Dirt coated the hair and Glorfindel was unable to tell its colour. Blood streaked the face of the unconscious warrior but still the balrog-slayer was able to see exhaustion, immense pain and even more injuries underneath the layer of grime.

"Elladan!" Glorfindel yelled over his shoulder with sudden haste. "He is injured!"

Within a few moments the twins reached his side. "Take him away from the trees!" Glorfindel hissed. Elladan was already leaning over the unconscious elf, a deep frown upon his face. He was a talented healer and had learned much from his father.

Haldir came with a stretcher in his hand which he put down next to the limp and battered form.

"Help me lift him, Elrohir," Elladan ordered, carefully putting his hands under the linen-covered shoulder blades. Glorfindel kneeled next to him, pushing his hands underneath the elf's back while Elrohir took his feet.

"On three. One, two, three," Elrohir counted and they lifted the injured onto the stretcher. They moved back towards the group as quickly as Elladan dared to allow. Once there, Elladan immediately shouted orders. Elrohir handed his brother thin leather gloves and pulled a similar pair over his own fingers. Then they began cutting through the bandages. Head bowed, they struggled to pull it away for the blood, in various stages of drying, had glued the layers together and onto the skin of the poor being.

The twins worked for several hours, stanching the blood flow and sewing the various wounds, most of which were apparently acquired _after_ the bandages had been wrapped around the frail torso.

"He is dying," Elladan told Glorfindel whilst still working. "I cannot save him. He needs Ada! I have no idea how to deal with some of these wounds. There are traces of poisons I do not know, his wound is infected and he needs a proper surgery. We have to get him to Ada as quickly as possible."

"Imladris is far away, Elladan. Do you think he will make it?"

"I have no idea. Normally I would say no, but technically he should have died days ago and yet he is still breathing. I cannot explain how he could possibly have acquired all these injuries and still be able to stand upright, let alone walk! He has lost way too much blood, probably hasn't eaten anything in days and he is freezing cold while running a fever at the same time."

Indeed even as the twins worked on the lithe elf, blankets were draped over his legs and some water flasks had been filled with boiling water as an attempt to warm the wood elf up.

"How do we transport him?"

Elladan pressed his lips together, exchanging a worried glance with his twin. "Horseback" he said and Glorfindel stared at him.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but normally a patient who looks as broken as he does should not be moved , should he?"

"We do not have any time. We will have to try and get him home. The carts take too long and the jostling would be just as bad just over a prolonged time. We have to go as quickly as possible!"

"We need six days to Imladris, we can probably make it in four if we push the horses to their limit, but nothing under that," Glorfindel answered, already pulling the saddle off his proud stallion. While more comfortable if were was only one rider, if he was to hold a bleeding and near dead wood elf in his arms, a horse blanket would be better. He could ride as well without a saddle just as with one, having ridden horses for many centuries.

"He wakes!" Elladan hissed and Glorfindel spun around to kneel next to the twins. Indeed the elf's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened, revealing eyes of the brightest blue, clouded with pain.

* * *

Legolas wanted to cry out in agony. His body stood in flames! His entire chest stood in hot dancing flames, mocking him with each painful breath he took as his lungs filled with searing hot air. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and sunlight blinded him. Sunlight. A soft gasp came over his dry lips and tears leaked over his eyes. Had he made it? Had he reached his father's kingdom? Was he safe?

Figures moved before him, blurred and quick. Why did they not kill the fire ravaging on his skin? Why did they let him burn? Someone pressed a water bottle against his lips and Legolas had to cough as he could not swallow. Agony tore through his side and his vision blacked out and he went limp for several minutes. Only then he found he could struggle to open his eyes once more, attempting to speak.

"A …. Ada!" Legolas begged. Muddled voices were heard but the prince did not care. All he noticed was that his father did not take his hand or gently stroke his hair or even only speak up with a cold, seemingly bored voice and he knew his ada was not here. He forced himself to stay awake though the pain had reached a level he thought impossible.

"They are all dead. The patrols … They are all dead" Legolas managed to slur. The young prince was too far gone already to hope he had finally made it to safety. He did not manage to bring himself to care anymore. His father was not here and nothing else mattered. He was lost in a sea of pain and loneliness with the knowledge he would not live to see his family again. All was lost.

* * *

Glorfindel stared down at the youngster, having barely been able to make out the words. His heart had broken when the warrior who could barely be of age had begged for his father, followed by the declaration that 'they are all dead'. Elladan managed to force some water down the elf's throat even though his patient was not aware about what happened.

"We have to go now" Elladan said, standing up and flexing his hurting fingers and massaging the crick in his neck. Glorfindel mounted his proud stallion, already ordering Haldir to take command over the group and get them away from the dark forest as quickly as possible and to reach the Golden Trees of Lorien.

"I am sorry," Elladan said to the unconscious elf, knowing what he was about to do would very likely kill the warrior. However, it was his only chance of survival as well. As carefully as possible, he lifted the battered form, praying that he did not tear any of the stitchings open as he seated the lithe wood elf to sit in front of Glorfindel. The balrog-slayer wrapped both arms protectively around the thin body, circumspectly avoiding the injuries underneath the fresh linen.

He had only gazed into those blue eyes for one moment but Glorfindel had found himself entranced. Never before had he seen so much pain and suffering in someone so young, and yet the strength which had kept the young one going astounded him. The Noldo would do all in his power to protect the 'little one', as he had dubbed the being in his arms. Legolas Thranduillion had always easily found his way into the hearts of others and in his weakness he had unknowingly formed a bond which could not only save his life, but all of Mirkwood.

* * *

**Please review! **

**And thank you to my beta readers Jaxzan Proditur and Swallow-tailed kite!**

**Megan:** Thank you very much for your support! Well, Legolas has finally been found! And I am glad to hear you liked my other story as well! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I guess you have been waiting for this to happen

**Guest1: **Thank you. Well, what shall I say: I can be quite a drama queen :)

**Guest2: **There will be a longer chapter next time, I promise! I only got one more exam in two weeks and then I will have a lot more free time! How Thranduil will handle all of this ... you will have to wait and see :) He will be in the next chapter though, I promise

**Lord Illyren: **Oh, I apologize. Yes, that elf was Merion. That was the elf who went missing and ended up in the river. After Legolas was injured trying to save him, Merion put on Legolas cloths with the stitchings and he used Legolas weapons as his own were lost in the river and he could make better use of them then Legolas. I will try to bring all this into the next chaper as well, so people understand what happend.

**kei: **I apologize for doing the exact opposite: This is one of the shortest chapters as of yet. However, I promise the next will be longer than usual! I only have one more exam and then I should have the time to write a few extra lines

**FP3: **I guess I shocked quite a few people with this :) It is always nice to see you can do something noone saw coming :D Glad you liked the chapter

**Guest3: **Well, again, this chapter wasn't long, the next will be longer, I promise! Last exam is in two weeks, after that I'll have more time once more and I will write a beautiful long chapter for you guys!

**Guest4: **Î am not yet sure how and if I am going to continue the 'romance' (so far they kissed and she got killed ... very romantic :P ) between Elrohir and Eyaenne in this story. But things like this usually develop while I am writing and are not planned out in detail, so, who knows? And I promise, the Noldor elves will be a lot more prominent from here on


	21. 21: Imladris

** I promised, so here is your extra long chapter. Noone complain about it being short! It is twice the normal lenght! Also: I apologize for the delay, but I managed to not only land Legolas in hospital, but myself as well.  
Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Icy rain fell from the sky above and hid the mountains behind a curtain of streaky grey. Glorfindel's blue cloak was draped carefully around the injured elf who leaned heavily against his chest, sweat forming upon the elegant brow. The hood of his cloak had been drawn deeply across the face of the wounded elf in an attempt to keep the sick and hurt creature dry. Meanwhile, Glorfindel's own golden locks were glued lankly to his skull and the rain water ran into his eyes the entire time.

Two other figures were nearly hidden by the downpour of water. The twins kept their eyes on their surroundings, carefully looking out for traces of orcs. Both of them were worried about the young wood elf. If Glorfindel was honest with himself, he had expected the lithe figure to give up and die within his protective embrace, and yet even now he could feel the gentle rise and fall of the young chest, could hear his raspy, uneven breaths which sometimes stopped worryingly for several seconds before he heard them again.

"Hang in there, penneth," Glorfindel muttered and carefully shifted into a more comfortable position, leaning forward to look underneath the hood. Seeing that the intensely blue eyes were still closed, Glorfindel sat back.

He sighed, relieved, as from one second to the other the downpour changed into a light rain and suddenly he could see a few hundred meters further. The rocky area was grey and puddles turned the path into a dangerous and slippery slope, forcing the horses to go slowly.

"How is he doing?" Elladan asked from Glorfindel's right.

"Still alive," was all the balrog-slayer knew to say about the wood elf's condition. "I just hope he will survive until we reach Imladris and Elrond can help him."

"It is two more days to Imladris," Elrohir agreed worriedly from a bit further away. Glorfindel nodded and watched as Elladan cumbersomely drew a bowl as well as some moist lembas out of his pack. The twin plucked the travelling bread into tiny pieces and dropped those into the bowl before holding it out to collect some rainwater that turned the bread crumbs into a thick sludge.

"Try to give him this," Elladan said and handed the bowl to Glorfindel, who then tried to feed the gross looking but nourishing mush to the unconscious elf. They had been feeding the Mirkwood warrior like this ever since they had found him, for he remained unconscious and yet was in desperate need of food in order to sustain his life.

Suddenly, the elf lurched violently forward, followed by a cry of intense pain. Glorfindel cursed softly, letting the bowl fall to the ground as he steadied the wounded warrior who swayed dangerously. At the same time he stopped his loyal horse by applying some gentle pressure against its flanks

"You are safe, nothing will harm you here, I promise," Glorfindel murmured into the little one's ear. "Shhh, stay calm, you are safe. Don't move or you'll only strain your wounds. That is it, take deep, even breaths, shhh. Follow my lead: Breath in …. And out …. And in …. And out. Good, see, that is better already. How are you feeling, penneth?"

Blue eyes clouded by pain shone from a pale face, searching around and never focusing at the same spot for longer than a second. It was obvious the injured elfling was not completely aware of either his surroundings or his own situation. Still, upon hearing Glorfindel's soothing voice, he opened his mouth. Soft words spilled over his swollen and cracked lips, gliding heavily over his dry tongue.

Elladan and Elrohir - who had both turned their horses as soon as they noticed what was going on - frowned at each other inquiringly. Elladan's slim fingers encircled the elf's slender wrist and he checked the pulse.

"That wasn't our tongue, was it?" Elrohir questioned, slightly uncertain, for the words had been slurred at best.

"I believe he spoke the tongue of the Silvans. He must be of Silvan blood," Glorfindel replied quickly. "Hand me a water flask, quick!" He demanded, guessing that the broken person in his arms had requested for water. The blue eyes were shut in obvious pain and the blond balrog-slayer could feel tense muscles beneath his arms.

"Relax," he muttered softly, hoping it would ease the pain. Meanwhile, Elrohir quickly got his water flask and crushed a few leaves of athelas into the water before handing it over. Almost immediately a soothing smell penetrated the air.

"Drink this, my young friend," Glorfindel urged gently as he pressed the flask against the lips of the elfling in his arms. Slowly and interrupted by pained coughing, the elf drank eagerly. Worriedly, Glorfindel felt that the Silvan began to tremble as if he was cold.

"Elladan?" He asked.

"He is cold. His body cannot sustain his heat, even with the help of your body, Glorfindel. Hang on." With that, the twin began rummaging in his pack once more. After some searching, he found his spare tunic and gestured for Elrohir to do the same, while he started looking for Glorfindel's spare tunic as well.

"Why did we not do this earlier?" Glorfindel asked, not being able to believe the healer had simply forgotten about the tunics.

"He had a fever. It would have done him no good and his sweat would have just soaked the tunics, but now his sweating has almost stopped. He still runs a fever but it is not as high as it was then we first found him. Some of the herbs I gave him must have finally helped," Elladan explained quickly and draped the tunics over the shivering body. He cursed the rain under his breath as they could not actually dress the elf properly for the rain would have seeped through the fabric in the process. Only Glorfindel's thick felt cloak protected against the wet element.

"Penneth, do you think you can eat something?" Glorfindel asked before the warrior could slip back into unconsciousness. He did not wait for a response, instead gently putting a piece of lembas between the cracked lips. Slowly the other elf accepted the food, moaning as he swallowed. "We will get you to help, penneth, fear not. Just hang in there for a bit longer, alright? I am Glorfindel and I will watch over you. I will bring you to a healer and he will help you get healthy again." The balrog-slayer continued speaking in a soft voice as he fed the young Silvan some more lembas. He sighed as the young elf went limp again.

"Let us hurry," he said after a few seconds. Elladan and Elrohir, who were already discussing their patient, nodded and followed Glorfindel's lead, determined to save the elf and bring him to Elrond to be healed.

* * *

The cries of the trees were deafening. Their mourning caused Silvan elves to stop in their tracks, to sink to the ground with their hands pressed tightly against their delicate ears. Tears were streaming over the cheeks of many as the emotions of the trees overwhelmed them, rendering those who were more responsive to their voices unconscious. The Sindar elves too could hear the trees' distress, could feel the very air vibrating with their deep songs. They ran to protect their falling Silvan brothers wherever there was need. Many Silvans would have fallen to their deaths from the branches high above the ground, would have been slain by orcs or would have caused harm to themselves had it not been for their Sindar brothers and sisters. Haunted eyes searched the forest for the reason of the trees' distress, but neither Silvan nor Sindar understood what had transpired,

Gandalf, however, knew. He had been the one to hold Roewen in his arms while the she-elf had sobbed in despair. He had barely been able to make out her words and everyone else had been deathly pale and still, refusing to meet his gaze even as tears ran freely over their faces. It had taken the wise wizard many hours to finally get the whole story out of the poor warrior. Crown Prince Alcanor had turned into an orc upon finding the body of Legolas, whoever this Legolas was. At first, Mithrandir had been unable to believe that an elf could be turned into a creature of darkness in this way but after he listened to Roewen's tired words, he had come to the following conclusion: an elf's fea protected them from the darkness. Had the prince been anywhere else, his fea would have simply left his body as he faded from the pain upon finding the body. However, in a place of such darkness, his fea had not had the possibility of fleeing the elf's body. Instead, the moment it had stopped shining its light the darkness had crashed into the vessel, hindering the fea's escape and for Alcanor's fading, which meant that Alcanor's fea still resided in his body, yet the darkness which had gained access to it was so much stronger that it overwhelmed the soothing light and took command over the body.

Roewen had fallen after the wizard had urged her to with some soft words of power and wizarding magic. The grey wanderer was sure that had he not made use of his powers, the she-elf would not have found sleep in many hours to come.

Now, Gandalf was hurrying through the forest taking a small, barely visible path, his staff clicking on the hard ground every few steps. He was on his way to see the king and after what he had heard he knew he had no second to waste. After the death of Iarith, the king had crumbled and nearly faded. Now, losing his oldest son as well only days after Iarith's death … was it even possible for the proud elf to go on in life and not fade? Could an elf even possess such strength? Gandalf knew he would most likely be too late, yet he had to try and hinder the king from fading. It would not be a rescue, it would be torture for the father to stay alive and yet his people needed Thranduil. They stood at the brink of destruction. Were their leader to fade after they had lost one of their princes and one of their princesses, they would stand alone and surely not find their way in this darkening forest. If Thranduil fell, all of Mirkwood would too.

"The king!" Mithrandir called towards two guards as soon as he spotted them standing before a tent in the middle of the forest. The trees had shifted to support the heavy fabric with their branches and so the tent stood proudly underneath their boughs.

"I have to speak with the king!" Gandalf declared. The two guards exchanged a long look before stepping aside.

"Mithrandir," one of them spoke up. "King Thranduil is in a dark place. Please, Mithrandir, bring him back to us! We need him dearly."

Hiding a relieved sigh that Thranduil was still alive, the wise wizard nodded towards the worried and pained warrior. "I will attempt to, friend of the forest, but I cannot give you my word that I will succeed."

"I can ask nothing more," the warrior replied, raising his hand to his chest and bowing his head in a gesture of gratitude and respect.

It was dark inside the tent and only the dimmed light from the torches outside provided light. It reflected on long, silvery hair and armour and on pale skin. The king was slumped in one corner, one icy blue eye staring sightlessly into the distance. The other seemed to glow white with its blindness. His glamour which usually hid the grotesque scar was completely gone, leaving the tissue exposed to Mithrandir's preying eyes. Tear marks adorned the drawn face and even Mithrandir who had seen his fair share of suffering and devastation had to take one stumbling step back when he looked into a blue empty eye. One question was written clearly in it as Thranduil now slowly looked up: Why?

No elvish light shone around the formerly proud posture.

"Thranduil?" Mithrandir started in a rough voice.

"Leave me alone, Mithrandir. I will not have anyone watch when I return to my beloved wife and my children." The whisper sent goosebumps down Gandalf's spine. Slowly, he crouched down in front of the king, his old bones protesting loudly.

"What about Daeros? Arahen? What about Eyaenne? Will you leave them behind?" Gandalf knew he was being cruel and yet Thranduil's three living children were the only reason why the elf was still here and only they could keep him alive.

"Torture me no further, meddlesome old man," Thranduil rasped. He could barely make out the wizard's face beneath the brim of his pointed hat. As always, the lingering smell of pipe weed clung to the grey cloth.

"_Thranduil, melleth-nin. Be strong!" My love_. Thranduil crunched his eyes shut. Luineth, his beloved wife, spoke softly in his mind from beyond death.

"Nay, I will be with you, my love, soon, my love," he whispered.

"_You will not_," came the soft reply from within his thoughts. _"I cannot let you. You promised, Thranduil. You promised me, darling."_ And indeed, Luineth was right. He had promised, had he not? Many centuries ago, he had promised ….

* * *

**FLASHBACK **

The eyes of the king shone brightly with his joy. His songs rang loudly through the light forest and the trees rejoiced, joining in his song with their own voices. Though Thranduil was no Silvan elf, the trees loved him for his deeds and connected with the Sindar in a way they only did with few.

"She is beautiful," Thranduil sang over and over again, slowly spinning around the trees in a gentle dance, his blue eyes transfixed on the precious bundle in his arms. His daughter Eyaenne was only a few hours of age and yet Thranduil had already given her his entire heart, the same way he had done with Alcanor, then he was born.

"She has your lips, don't you think, Thranduil?" Luineth asked smiling, holding a sleeping Alcanor in her arms. She had insisted to go into the forest the moment she had woken up after an exhausted sleep after Eyaenne's birth. She had taken a quick bath and a midwife and Thranduil had steadied her on her way, the king holding his daughter gracefully with the other arm.

"Ay, but she has your eyes, Luineth. Every time I look upon her I will think of you."

"You have to promise me something," Luineth said, suddenly very serious.

"Anything," the young king replied.

"If one of us dies, the other has to go on. For our children."

This caught Thranduil's attention. He slowed in his dance and the soft song, which had spilled from his lips, stopped. He looked down onto his sleeping baby daughter and then slowly returned to Luineth's side. Gently, he lowered himself to the ground, careful to not jostle Eyaenne. Luineth's hand entwined with his fingers and he looked down at their joined hands, before raising the icy blue eyes.

"I promise, I will protect our children, no matter the cost. As long as one of them is still alive, I will stay with them. And should I go to Mandos' Halls before them, I will await them there and protect you and the children from beyond the veil. I promise, Luineth! Anything and everything for you and our children. I promise. For all eternity. Will you promise me the same?"

"I will, Thranduil, my love. I promise to always protect you and our children and be it from beyond the veil."

Thranduil smiled widely, withdrawing his hand from Luineth's grasp so he could gently stroke Alcanor's cheek. He then leaned forward and kissed his wife's warm and sweet lips deeply and slowly. Hesitantly, he pulled back after the need for air could not be ignored any longer.

"I promise, my love. I promise," he repeated and kissed her once more.

**END FLASHBACK**

* * *

Lord Elrond of Rivendell filled the last flask with freshly made white cream. It's refreshing smell of athelas and mint still filled the room. Setting the flask aside to cool the wise elf began cleaning his work station, before putting stoppers on the fifteen flasks, labelling them with an elegant hand before putting them away.

Just as he placed the last two flasks in the cupboard, loud shouting reached his ears through the open windows. His brows furrowed, for normally peace and quiet were present in Imladris and the only shouting would come from silly elves fooling around, no matter what age. These shouts however were clearly direr and so Elrond stepped towards the window. He saw a rider forcing his horse over the bridge with a speed that spoke of danger. Frowning, he abandoned the window and instead headed towards the courtyard, his strides long and purposeful.

"Adar!" A shout rang through the air the moment Elrond had stepped into the light and the Peredhil felt his blood draining from his face.

"Elladan?" Elrond guessed, unable to tell which one of his sons the warrior was, as the rider stumbled upon dismounting, hair hanging in wet strands on his face.

"It's Elrohir, Ada", Elrohir corrected.

"What happened? Is everything all right with Elladan? Where is your brother?" Elrond asked frantically.

"He is with Glorfindel. They are both fine, Ada, do not fret! We were coming close to Mirkwood when an elf stumbled out of the forest. He is barely alive and is in desperate need of your aid. Glorfindel has him and Elladan rides with them. I went to send word as soon as we reached the borders. Haldir took command of the remaining group and is leading them to Lorien for the time being. The wood elf needs medical attention, likely surgery. He has several wounds in his torso, one of which seems to be from an arrow which has gone all the way through his left side. It is orc-made and with a brutal head. Elladan thinks it has missed the vital organs, but it has become infected."

Elrohir spoke quickly, only stopping to draw in shuddering gasps for air. "Also he is infected with a poison we did not recognise and has several more wounds in bad state. They will be here within three hours. I thought … I would have thought he would not survive the ride. He is in such bad shape. How he could have survived this … Elladan was surprised to find him alive in the first place, but the penneth is so strong."

"I will prepare everything," Elrond agreed, having gotten the most important information. He turned, running back into the house of healing, shedding his long, dignified robe on the way as it would only hinder him. Preparing for surgery took several hours and now his hands were flying to disinfect the surgery instruments and he shouted orders to others to prepare the room he used for surgeries.

In no time he was called down and as he glanced into the sky he noticed that indeed almost three hours had passed. Elrohir was already waiting in the court yard, walking up and down with dark circles underneath his eyes.

It wasn't long before Elladan arrived, closely followed by Glorfindel on his mighty stallion. The balrog-slayer held the wounded elf in his arms, carefully propped up against his broad chest. His blond hair shone brightly in the light of the midday-sun.

Elladan jumped out of the saddle and hurried to Glorfindel's side. Elrond, too, appeared next to him, drawing the hood of Glorfindel's dark cloak back so he could see the elf's face. Swift fingers opened the cloak's fastenings and pulled it back. Bandages coloured in dark red spots were revealed.

"Let's lift him down and onto the stretcher," Elrond ordered quietly. "No, not you, Elladan. You are exhausted and shaking. You will do him no good in this state. Healer Ganion, would you be so kind?"

The healer in a blue garb did not hesitate and Elladan stepped back without a sound. Low moaning came from the wounded wood elf's lips as they lifted him onto the waiting stretcher. Two healers immediately carried him towards the house of healing. After a quick glance to make sure both of his sons and Glorfindel were alright, Elrond hurried after them.

* * *

Elrond sighed tiredly and took his formerly white apron off. His fingers were shaking slightly after the adrenalin which had kept the elf lord focused for many hours drained away. Elladan had been right: The wood elf soldier should have by all means died days ago. How the young elfling, who could not have even reached his maturity by Noldor law, had been able to fight to wounds, blood loss, orc poison and cold with barely any nutrition and no extensive medical aid was beyond Elrond.

"How is he, Elrond?" Glorfindel asked gently, worry lacing his voice.

"I am not sure. I managed to seal the internal bleeding and repaired his side. His liver has suffered a slight rupture but I was able to fix this too. I cleaned all his wounds and gave him several concoctions to help the blood loss, the infection and to boost his system in general. If he survives the next two days, I'd say there is hope he will make a recovery. However, even when I doubt he will ever be able to make full use of his right arm ever again."

"I cannot help but feel that I have to protect him, Elrond. You should have seen him when he was awake. He has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen and they seem so young. He called for his ada and I could do nothing to ease his pain," Glorfindel admitted sadly.

Elrond smiled, surprised. Glorfindel had been a warrior for many centuries and he felt for the injured and dying, but he did not make friends easily. The balrog-slayer had lost too many good friends in battle to instantly open his heart up to others. With this so very young warrior it seemed different. Without knowing anything about the elfling, Glorfindel had shown a protectiveness which surprised Elrond. In a good way. He just hoped the wood elf would make it through the next days, both for the warrior's sake and for Glorfindel's.

"My sons have told me something similar. This elf seems to be able to worm his way into the hearts of others." Elrond smiled gently, before letting himself fall into a chair in the healing wing. Another healer was bandaging his patient right now. He himself had been too exhausted and the other healers were very capable themselves, so Elrond did not hesitate to leave the stranger in their capable hands.

"I cannot stop wondering how a young elf like him would have ended up in the southern part of Mirkwood, all alone and with no weapons and no aid," Glorfindel mused. When received no answer he turned around, only to find Elrond sleeping in his chair, eyes half closed in exhaustion.

The balrog slayer took a blanket to spread over his old friend and then settled into a chair himself to wait for the healers to bring in the young warrior and settle him on one of the beds.

* * *

It felt like flying, Legolas thought. It was as if his body had no weight at all but was drifting through the wadded whiteness which surrounded. He smiled slightly. This was nice. After all the pain he had felt for so long, this was like heaven. He never wished to leave this place. No worries seemed to exist here. No orcs and spiders which needed to be fought, no problems which needed to be solved, no pleas directed at him by darkening trees to save them, no responsibility wearing on his shoulders and no death tearing on his soul.

I must be in Mandos' halls, Legolas decided. Which other place could possibly be like this? Where was his mother? Surely, if he was in Mandos' halls, his _naneth_ would await him here with open arms.

Searching, Legolas craned his neck to look around. The only result was a sharp pain driving through his spine and his eyes suddenly snapped open. Not Mandos' halls after all, a little voice spoke in Legolas head. The world was blurry and pain seeped back into his body, though not as badly as the prince had expected. He relaxed slightly, sighing. Where was he? The world around him was blurred and already Legolas could feel his thoughts turning sluggish with exhaustion. Exhaustion from what?, he wondered. Where was he? Had he been injured? Was he in the Royal Healing Wing? It smelled like he could be, he noticed in the back of his mind.

"Ada?" He asked roughly, but before he could hear an answer, he had already slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Gandalf the Grey wandered through the dark forest, staying close to the camp of the wood elves. After he had reminded Thranduil of his children, the king had begun to mutter to himself in the tongue of the Silvan elves, before suddenly jumping to his feet and throwing Gandalf bodily out of the tent. His grip had been harsh and strong, leaving marks on Gandalf's old skin with its ferocity. That strength had caught Gandalf off guard, for the slumped king had seemed anything but strong at that moment.

"Mithrandir?" A voice asked, causing the wizard to turn around. Falin Thranduillion stood behind him, his silver hair shining in the random strays of moon light falling through the canopy. The trees cast shadows on his face and Gandalf was not able to read his features

"My young Thranduillion, what can I do for you?" Gandalf said, putting effort in letting his voice sound jovial.

"You are said to be wise man, Mithrandir. Though I have never met you before in person, my father speaks highly of your wisdom, though he is lacing his words with sarcasm and insults to hide that fact. So I wonder: Do you think Alcanor is gone? Truly gone? They say he is an orc in an elf's body and from what I saw I can confirm thus and yet … my heart refuses to believe it."

"My dear Falin," Gandalf said, sitting down and gesturing for the youngest prince to do the same. He took out his pipe and slowly began scratching the ash out with a piece of bark he found on the ground next to his feet. Falin followed his every motion with his eyes.

"I have a theory to what happened to your brother, Falin," Gandalf finally said, apparently still solemnly focused on the pipe in his hands.

"And may I ask you to share this theory with me? Do not hold back if it is dark. I have to know, either way." Somehow, Falin Thranduillion managed to stay polite, even though Gandalf could hear his voice tremble and saw his hands shaking uncontrollably.

Slowly, with emphasis that this was only his speculation and nothing to be certain about, Gandalf told the prince his theory, that the darkness had indeed trapped Alcanor's fea in his body instead of allowing it fade and to continue on to Mandos' halls.

"And is that a good thing, is it not? Does it mean Alcanor is still in there somewhere and simply trapped underneath the shadows, or does it mean he will forever be a slave to the Darkness with no hope of ever escaping it?"

"That, my young Prince, I do not know nor do I even dare to suspect. I do not wish to give you false hopes, however, I personally think it is better to go through life with hope in your heart. If you do not have hope you will never know."

* * *

It had been two days since they had arrived in Imladris. In this time, Glorfindel had not left the healing wing for longer than a few hours at most, to get some sleep himself. He spent his time sitting in a chair, staring down at the lifeless figure in the bed. The Mirkwood warrior was incredible pale. The elfling had blond hair, not dissimilar to Glorfindel's own mane. Under all the mud and blood it had been caked in the colour had been indistinguishable until the healers had carefully and skilfully cleaned it. They had had to cut off quite a bit for it had been too matted. It still reached down to the elf's shoulders though, so it wasn't too bad.

Elrond had come in every hour to check on his young patient's condition for several minutes. The more hours passed, the more the worried crease between the dark brows had eased.

After the twins had woken up from their deep, herb-induced tea – thanks to their father Elrond – they had come to the healing ward as well. Elladan helped his father with the examinations and Elrohir sat next to Glorfindel, a book in his hand and watched.

Penneth, how everyone called the elfling in the lack of a real name, had woken up once while Elrond had attended to his needs. However, after a muttered plea for his father, the young warrior once again revisited the land of unconsciousness.

Glorfindel flinched violently when the figure in the bed suddenly shifted with a low moan. Torn out of his thoughts of the last few days, the balrog-slayer jumped to his feet and hurried to the bedside. He took a damp cloth and gently brushed over the elf's brow. Blue eyes opened, slightly dazed and confused.

"Hello, Penneth", Glorfindel greeted with a soft voice and that got the attention of the twins who had just returned with a tray of fresh food and a bowl of slimy looking mush for the injured elf.

"He is awake?" Elrohir asked, excited.

"I'll get Ada," Elladan said and vanished.

"Wa –" the elf croaked. "Wa- er."

Elrohir quickly found a glass of water and kneeled next to the elf's head. The warrior winced and closed his eyes in pain as Glorfindel gently helped him to sit up slightly and put a thick pillow under his head to make drinking easier.

"Slowly, mellon-nin," Elrohir smiled as he helped the elf drink.

"Muindor?" The elf whispered softly in question. _Brother_? Obviously he could still not fully see them, but as it was just closing night the light was not the best either.

"No. Gwador. You are safe, little one. Do not worry yourself. No one will harm you here," Glorfindel replied. _Brother by heart. _Elrohir raised his brows as he heard how Glorfindel introduced himself, but he stayed quiet.

"Here, you have to eat," the balrog slayer said before the elfling could ask any more questions Slowly, Penneth took a few spoonful of the mush and swallowed.

"Hurts," he complained after a while and leaned back.

"Give him some theam-leafs," Elrond's voice rang softly from the other side. The healer kept himself away for now, not wishing to crowd the wounded warrior too soon, as he still seemed incredible tense and on edge, as if suspecting an attack.

Quickly Elrohir stood and got the leaves.

"What is your name, gwador?" Glorfindel asked.

For some reason this question caused the elf to tense. He stopped eating and tired eyes snapped upwards.

"My name? You …. Do not know?" He croaked, beginning to get agitated. "How … not know? How could you …" While rasping out the words he tried to sit up, blanching with his breath caught in his throat. He had to lie back and as soon as his head hit the pillow, the elfling once again lost consciousness.

"Who are you, mellon-nin? What is hunting you even now?" The twins wondered aloud in unison.

* * *

The next time Legolas awoke he was more aware of his surroundings. He remembered blurrily that he had been awake before. He had received water and food and whoever had been with him had called himself his gwador. However, he could not recall the elf's face, nor who of his friends it had been.

Legolas looked around and tensed as soon as he realised that there was no way he was in his father's fortress. Sun streamed through big open windows, the wood of the room was light and warm. It smelled like a healing wing, with herbs, teas, creams and ointments. He was lying in a big bed with white sheets. At some places his skin felt uncomfortably tight but otherwise he was not in pain as long as he remained still.

The songs of many different birds rang through the window and after listening to it, Legolas felt himself tense more and more. Never before had he heard such birds. They did not live in Mirkwood, not that he knew of. And this place … it seemed too light to be his beloved forest. But if he wasn't in Mirkwood, where was he? The elf he had spoken to earlier had called himself his gwador and they had used the elven tongue. Was he in Lorien? Or another elvish settlement? How did he get here? Who were this people who had taken him in? What did they want?

"You are awake, Penneth," a gentle voice greeted him and he startled, clenching his jaw to suppress the pain.

"Stay still, your wounds are still not healed." The elf who spoke was dark haired and his brown eyes spoke of wisdom. The stranger was dressed in the clothes of a healer but his stance told that he was not a simple healer but a lord.

"I … thank you, for your assistance," Legolas began carefully, holding his voice steady and examining the elf from head to toe. "May I require where I am? And how did I get here?"

"My sons and a close friend found you at the edge of your forest, Penneth. You were barely alive and they brought you here for me to heal you. You are residing in Imladris, the last homely –" He did not get further.

At the mentioning of Imladris Legolas had stiffened. Noldor! This people were Noldor. Stories rushed back into his mind, stories of how the Noldor had betrayed his people, had attacked his father and nearly killed his brother, here, in this very place! He remembered Eyaenne's wounds and though at the time he had known for sure Lord Elrohir had had no intention to harming her, right now, it did not fully matter. He was here, weak and vulnerable, still in pain. He felt trapped like an animal in a cage. What would the Noldor do with him? What did they want? Did they wish to finally get to his father by killing him, or holding him hostage?

Without thinking, Legolas jumped out of the bed. His vision threatened to black out as pain once again rushed through his body. Oh, he was so sick of the pain! Wide-eyed with irrational panic, Legolas stared at the Noldo before him who had abruptly stopped in his speech.

"Calm down, little one, No one will hurt you here," the healer tried softly.

"Why should I trust a Noldo?" Legolas hissed and staggered over to the window. A big old lime tree stood before it and its branches nearly reached to the window.

The healer had stopped in his tracks, not approaching him further. A sadness had found its way into his brown eyes.

"I will not harm you, warrior."

"Liar! You attacked the king, the prince and the princess!" Legolas whimpered, tears streaming over his face.

"Stay away from me!" he yelled as the lord once again tried to approach him.

"Let me help you! I swear on my name I will not harm you!"

Legolas could not hear the words anymore. He could feel his strength waning. He did not trust the strange Noldo. With one last cry he leapt out of the window, feeling the lime tree's arms embrace him before he passed out.

* * *

**Please review!**  
**And this is better getting extra enthusiatsic and extra many reviews! :P I worked hard on it.**

**And a big thanks to my awesome betas: Jaxzan Proditor and Swallow-tailed kite. You got no idea how many mistakes that first draft had :)**

**Guest#1: **This one is longer, hope you enjoy!

**Guest1345: **Thank you for your compliments! I am glad I can inspire you to do your own writing with my work!

**Scathach47:** Well, I guess you are right, starting to cook with gas now.

**Megan: **This chapter was a bit longer. Hope you like the way I am taking with this chapter and I guess it already shows a bit that I do not just want to have Legolas heal and send him back without issues coming up first :D**  
**

**Guest#2:** I promisef and I did give you a longer chapter! However I most likely will not be able to hold this up and this will be a one time thing I did because so many of you asked. I simply do not have the creativity nor time to write chapters of this lenght all the time

**Lord Illyren: **Yeah, took them long enough, did it not? I kinda had not planned for it to take so long. This was supposed to be the beginning of the story and I thought I would add one or two chapters to explain the background story ... sorta got a bit out of hand and the plot hijacked my brain to extend it massively


	22. 22: Gwador

Elrond cursed loudly. He jumped to the window and leaned out to see where the wood elf had landed. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He had expected difficulties with the wood elf concerning trust as soon as the young warrior found out where he was. Distrust he had expected, not a panic attack. The raw fear in those blue eyes had hit him fully unprepared. Never before had he had a patient who seemed so afraid of him. Elrond was a healer and though he could be a mighty warrior if he chose to, he had tried to radiate calm and an even temper.

What he saw caused both brows to shoot upwards. The lime tree had shifted in order to catch the falling elf and now its branches were holding the lifeless figure in a tight and seemingly gentle embrace. He could not help himself but stare in disbelief. The tree had shifted to its side to accommodate the warrior.

Definitely a Silvan elf then, he thought to himself with some sarcasm, still not quite trusting his eyes. He had not known that any elf could bring a tree to move this drastically. Penneth must have a close connection with the trees, he suspected.

"What is going on, Ada?" Two voices asked in unison. Elrond turned and hurried past them.

"He jumped out of the window."

"He what?" Elladan was completely shocked and ran to the window to confirm he had understood correctly.

"Why would he do this?" Elrohir asked and followed his father on his way outside to try and get that stupid wood elf out of the tree.

Elrond's kind eyes shot to his younger son for one moment. The elf lord had seen the change in Elrohir's behaviour and had heard about the fact that Princess Eyaenne was actually still alive. Even after Elrohir had already returned safely Elrond had worried himself half sick with the idea of the twin going into Mirkwood to face the punishments of his supposed crimes.

"He was scared of me," Elrond admitted sadly. "He panicked, believing I would attempt to kill him. He said he would never trust a Noldo as we attempted to murder King Thranduil and harmed Prince Alcanor and Princess Eyaenne. Seldom have I seen such fear." His voice sounded stricken and Elrohir understood how it pained his father to have seen such fear directed towards him.

"I just hope he is fine and did not tear too many of his stitches. He must have been in incredible pain moving like that," the healer worried and finally stepped out of the grand entrance door. The way from the healing ward to the entrance door was definitely too long, he thought to himself.

Only a few minutes later, Elrond and his sons stood underneath the lime tree, their arms crossed in front of their chests and their heads tilted upwards to stare at the unconscious wood elf.

Elrohir opened and closed his mouth several times.

"How do we get him down there?" he managed after several attempts.

"I do not know," Elrond admitted.

"I will climb up," Elrohir decided and approached the tree. Suddenly they all heard a deep groan and the branches raised themselves higher, obviously not wanting to allow Elrohir to climb the old tree.

Elrond sighed, both brows risen in surprise.

Slowly, he stepped forward and touched the tree's bark.

"We wish your new friend no harm," he declared softly, actually realising that he usually never spoke with the trees for the lack of answers. He wondered if the lime tree considered him rude for only approaching him now that he wanted him to do something. "He is my patient and he is hurt. Please let us help him."

His words caused no reaction whatsoever. The lime tree still held his lower arms up and his upper arms still carried the unconscious figure.

"Please, your young friend is in need of aid we can provide. I promise we will do him no harm. If you insist we can lay him under your boughs so you can watch over him, but he needs medical attention. You do not want him to die, do you?"

Elrond waited tensely. After several long seconds the tree began shifting again, slowly lowering his branches. Elrohir stared wide-eyed at the tree who arranged his branches in a way to help him climb up easily. It kind of freaked him out to see this and a side glance to the others told him they felt similar.

"Elbereth! I had no idea trees could do this," he murmured slightly irritated. Slowly, not fully trusting the tree, he reached for a branch and pulled himself upwards, careful to always have one hand on a secure hold as he climbed up to the blond elf.

"Hello, mellon-nin. Here you are," he murmured and kneeled down. The warrior was deathly pale but his chest rose and fell with even breath. "Come here, little one," he muttered as he awkwardly lifted the lithe figure into his arms. He stumbled upon rising but a branch steadied him almost immediately.

"Put him down," Elrond said as soon as Elrohir reached the ground. The younger twin did as he was told and remained kneeling next to Penneth while Elrond began checking on him. Celebrian, who had by now joined her husband and her sons outside, kneeled next to him and began removing the Silvan's overly large shirt so Elrond could have a closer look to the damage done. A low moan escaped Penneth's mouth but he remained unconscious.

"Elrohir, could you please get Glorfindel? Maybe Penneth will remember him when he wakes and Glorfindel can keep him calm," Elrond ordered distractedly. "Elladan, I need gloves, scissors, needles, string, fresh bandages, wound balm, athelas and theam-leaves, a fresh linen for him to lie on, cleaning cloths, disinfecting lotion and hot water."

The twins vanished without a word, each hurrying in different directions.

"What happened?" Celebrian wondered whilst brushing a stray lock out of Penneth's eyes and gently tucking it behind his pointed ear. She too was worried about the young elfling who had awakened her motherly instincts.

"He panicked as soon as I told him where he was," Elrond said quietly, waving to an elf who had stopped to stare to go on and leave them alone.

Celebrian sighed. "Where have we gone so wrong that we are not only estranged from the elves of Mirkwood but that they actively fear us too? Can they not understand we never intended to harm any of them?" The question was purely rhetorical for they both knew no answer. They had discussed the matter many times.

Elrond hummed in response, already taking off the bandages he had wrapped around the frail torso.

It only took Elladan a few minutes to return with the requested items and Healer Ganion in tow to help carry everything. After gently lifting the wounded wood elf to lie on the clean linen Elrond began cleaning the wounds which had torn open, taking out the broken stitches and replacing them with new ones before adding theam-leaves against the pain and some cream onto the wounds and wrapping the wounded elf up again. During the entire procedure one could hear the lime tree shift from time to time as if reassuring itself that the Noldor did indeed keep their promise and did not harm his new friend. Elladan glanced at the tree several times, reassuringly patting its bark which – surprisingly – did seem to calm the tree down.

"How is he?" Glorfindel's voice was heard as the blond haired balrog slayer stepped up to them, a frown marring his face as he crossed his arms before his chest and looked down at the frail elfling.

"He tore open some stitches and he will hurt a lot waking up but should be fine if he remains calm," Elrond answered obviously relieved.

"Silly elf," was Glorfindel's only comment.

"He is waking up. We should step away a bit. Glorfindel, you were always with him when he woke, he might recognize your voice. Do try to tell him we do not wish to kill him or anything."

"Well, at least here are no windows to jump out from," the balrog slayer muttered darkly but sat down next to Penneth.

* * *

Legolas opened his eyes. He saw branches above his head and a soft smile appeared on his lips despite his discomfort. For several minutes he simply stared upwards, slowly recalling what had happened. Imladris … the elf lord had said he was in Imladris. Again an irrational fear seemed to drown him and he felt his breath speeding up, getting caught in his throat as he began shivering and pain once again washed over him. Damn the pain! Legolas thought with tears in his eyes.

"Shhh, keep calm, little one. No one will harm you. Breathe evenly, just like we did before, alright?" The voice seemed familiar and Legolas jerked his head to the side. A blond elf was sitting next to him, his arms wrapped around his knees and the elf looked down at him with slight worry.

The stranger kept speaking, not even attempting to touch Legolas and Legolas was sure he had heard the voice before. As he did not associate it with fear he slowly calmed down, once again following the strange elf's breathing patterns.

He looked away, not wishing to meet the curious blue gaze. Instead he lifted his hand and raised it slowly over his head, ignoring the painful tugging as he put his hand against the tree's bark. Almost instantly he heard concerned words ring in his mind. The gentle smile returned to his lips and he muttered an answer to the tree.

"What is it saying?" The stranger asked. Legolas turned to look at him again. In his chest he still felt some of that fear but he pushed it back, attempting to remain calm. The blond elf did definitely seem familiar, as if Legolas had known him as a child but he could not place it, where from. He was no Silvan though, otherwise he would have understood the tree's words himself. And his clothing did not seem like anything a Mirkwood elf would wear either. Legolas hesitated, feeling oddly exposed.

"The tree is worried," he admitted slowly.

"Yes, jumping out of that window was not the most intelligent thing for you to do," the elf said, with a disapproving frown.

Legolas remembered that. Again his breathing sped up as he recalled the elf lord, recalled where he was. Rivendell. The place his brother had almost been murdered, the place the Noldor called home.

"Stop it," the blond elf demanded harshly. "I promise you we will do you no harm but you will have to try to trust us in return."

Legolas stared at elf, trying to figure out if he could do so, if he could trust him. Normally, he had an uncanny ability to tell if someone was lying or not, sometimes even knowing what they wanted without having talked to them. Now, however, there was nothing. No soft voices in the back of his head telling him what kind of person the blond elf was. I am too injured and weak to sense anything, Legolas thought. However, something else wormed its way in the forefront of his mind. A word.

"Gwador?" Legolas asked hesitantly. Somehow this word and this elf belonged together though Legolas had no idea why he would call a stranger his brother in heart. Only his two closest friends deserved this title and this elf did not even remotely resemble either of them.

The elf grinned.

"You remember that? Good."

Legolas frowned.

"Why do you call yourself my gwador?" He wondered, his thoughts a bit sluggish.

The elf looked down at him with a facial expression Legolas could not interpret.

"My name is Glorfindel, if you are more comfortable with that. I found you at the edge of the southern part of Mirkwood and brought you to a healer. Can you tell me your name?"

"Le –" Legolas began but stopped himself almost instantly. Glorfindel was obviously a Noldo. Did the Noldor know he was a Thranduillion? Did they intend to use him against his father? Did they know using him as a hostage could get them practically anything they wanted, for his Ada would do anything to save him? Legolas swallowed hard, turning his face to the side. Maybe they did not know yet, he hoped. Maybe if he gave them a wrong name they would not know. Tears streamed over his cheeks and making this seemingly simple decision suddenly became very hard.

"Herion," he mumbled the first name coming to his mind.

"Do not lie at me, Penneth," Glorfindel reprimanded with a gentle voice. "You are a terrible liar."

The balrog slayer felt bad as the young warrior looked at him with fear in his eyes.

"Don't you dare sit up!" He ordered when he saw that the elfling wanted to sit up, probably to try and run away.

"You tore half of your stitches already and redoing them yet another time would not help your healing process." Glorfindel sighed. The wounded elf did not move an inch but it was out of fear. The balrog slayer hated installing that fear in the wood elf.

"Listen, you do not have to give us your name if you don't want to. Your name is not Herion and I won't call you that either. Until you tell me your name, and I mean your real name, I will just call you Penneth. Is that alright for you?"

Legolas stared at Glorfindel, feeling exposed at being caught lying. Well, it was true, he was a terrible liar. He thought about what the Noldo had said. He had expected him to demand for him to give his real name but instead the elder elf had reacted differently.

Slowly, Legolas nodded. He could live with being called Penneth.

"Are you in pain?" Glorfindel suddenly wanted to know and Legolas, who had been deep in thoughts, flinched violently. His response of a sharp cry of pain seemed to be answer enough.

"Lord Elrond is a great healer," Glorfindel began. "Would you allow him to –" He stopped in the middle of his sentence for a panicked gleam reappeared in Penneth's eyes.

"Nonono, no, please, no, Glorfindel please no," Legolas literally begged.

"Alright, he won't come closer. Calm down. I will not allow anyone to hurt you. Gwador, remember?" Glorfindel forced a calming smile on his lips. "Could maybe Lady Celebrian help you? She does not even eat meat because she does not want to harm animals so I am pretty sure she would not kill you either. Does that sound better? Yes? Good. Celebrian could you …?" Glrofindel turned to the Lady and she took the theam-leaves Elrond handed her and slowly came closer.

"Hello Penneth, I am Celebrian," she introduced herself while sitting down in some distance. "I would like you to chew on these leaves to help with the pain. They are harmless, see." She took one of the leaves and put it in her mouth.

Legolas watched the Lady and slowly his fear subsided. With the fear his adrenalin level sank and before he could even reach out for the leaves he had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

"He is asleep," Glorfindel realised and leaned back against the tree trunk.

"He seems to trust you. And he seemed glad to be outside instead of in the healing wing," Elrond concluded and now that Penneth was asleep he came closer to check him over once more. This happened more to calm his nerves than for anything else. "Maybe we should get him a few blankets. He was much calmer out here with the tree, so it would probably be unwise to take him back inside where he cannot communicate with any of them."

"We'll go and get them," the twins offered and ran away to get several thick blankets.

* * *

A few hours later, the twins and Glorfindel were sitting under the starlight. The Lord and Lady of Rivendell had retreated into the house, sitting in the hall of fire with young Arwen who was presenting a poem tonight. Undomiel understood why the twins wished to remain outside and had even suggested her father stay as well, but as Penneth seemed so afraid of Elrond there really was no point to him remaining outside if he could not do anything to help anyway.

"I wonder what he was doing so far south," Elladan mused.

"He must have been part of a patrol or something like that. He clearly is a warrior, even though he seems too young to be one. I mean, remember Prince Alcanor? The first time we met? He is a bit younger than us if I recall correctly and yet we was wearing an armour and already going on patrols. Maybe in Mirkwood an elf is allowed to be a warrior at a much younger age than here," Elrohir said.

"No elf his age should have to take up arms. However, I am certain were we to bring this topic up Penneth would give us an answer not dissimilar to what Prince Alcanor had said then confronted with our opinion: That in Greenwood, every child needs to be able to defend themselves against orcs and spiders. Certainly, now, as the forest is called Mirkwood, this is truer than before." Glorfindel sighed.

"Even so, I cannot imagine King Thranduil having patrols as far south as we were," the blond elf concluded.

"Maybe he was a prisoner of some orcs?" Elladan sounded sceptical himself.

"I doubt it," Glorfindel retorted. "Those marks were no torture wounds. The orcs know methods to cause as much pain as possible with relative little injury. Penneth was injured but his attackers were not attempting to keep him alive. He got lucky."

"We will have to ask him when he wakes up next time," Elrohir said, looking over to the sleeping figure. Penneth's left hand was touching one of the tree's roots where it was above the ground. Somehow the picture seemed peaceful as the night hid Penneth's injuries.

* * *

**Please take the time to review!**

**Thank you to my beta Jaxzan Proditor and Swallow-tailed kite!**

**Grace:** Yeah, I guess the summery I originally gave is not quite adequedate anymore, is it? I had never intended to take so long to finally get Legolas into that healing wing. It was meant to be two or three chapters and somehow it got slightly out of hand :/ Well, I am glad you enjoy it though! Thank you for your review! :)

**Guest1345:** Well, it would be boring if it went easy, would it not? Though I'd say Glorfindel is doing rather good with Legolas so far :) Hope you enjoy it!

**Guest#1:** I now have a very impressive 7cm long scar on the left side of my head, but otherwise I am fine :P Thanks though. Oh, and Glorfinel is here! I hope you like him, I am really trying to make him a nice person and yet a strong determined leader

**Violet:** Ok, thank you! I always leave them out while writing and then I have to go back to add them because I thought people would want me to do that. Thanks for letting me know it is unnessecary, saves me a surprisingly big amount of time :P Thank you for leaving a review and please continue to read and review! :D

**Megan:** I apologize, but I am not creative enough to do that. I would love to, but I simply need quite a long time just thinking what to write and make it good. I want it to somehow add up in the end and therefore I need a bit longer :) Thank you for pointing out the mistake as well, I corrected it by now. And yes, Elrond is pretty surprised right now. As is everyone else!

**Lord Illyren:** Answer to random question: Hell yes! They do whatever they want! Honestly, it is less stressing to supervise a bunch of three year olds (and I do know what I am talking about) than it is to get my characters to do what I want! If I want them to take something in stride, they suddenly sit on the floor sobbing and I have not the slighteszt clues what to do with them so I get them into the healing wing and see what happens next! Or they suddenly start screaming and kicking even though I had planned for them to stay calm and put together. You do know, that I had only planned to write like 2 or 3 chapters of backgroundstory before getting Legolas into that healing wing? Look how that turned out! Those Thranduil and his children and everyone else somehow hijacked my planning and turned it into something completely else.  
As for Legolas: He is not thinking clearly right now. I kind of think the experience of seeing his friends slaughtered hurt him in a deeper way than what is visible at the moment. And the pain and the fear of being in a strange place don't help either

**Guest#2:** Thank you for the review! Hope you enjoy!

**Guest#3:** Oh, is that you again? Thank you for the review, but I still think a short sentence of: Nice chap! is more encouraging than a 'please update soon' ;) Even though I guess I would miss you by now :P :)


	23. 23: Dreams and Poison

**As I received so many great review for the last chapter, I decided to update one week early! So thank you for the numerous reviews!**

* * *

Glorfindel's brow furrowed. He could have sworn he heard something over the laughter of the twins. Irritated, he looked around but he saw nothing. Shrugging, he turned back to his wine. He was just about to take another sip when he heard it again. Soft whimpering and choked sobbing.

"Elladan, Elrohir, hush!" Glorfindel demanded harshly. Instantly, the twins went quiet and their eyes widened when they too heard the sound of someone crying. Glorfindel jumped to his feet, placing his cup onto the ground and hurried over to the wounded wood elf. Penneth had rolled into as tight a ball as he could without hurting himself too much. He shifted in his sleep, his face scrunched up in distress. Whether he was dreaming or simply in pain, Glorfindel did not know. However, he would definitely have to wake him up. Gently, he placed a hand on Penneth's upper arm.

The Silvan's reaction to his touch was startling. Blue eyes snapped open and Penneth shot up. Glorfindel could see his empty hand going to his hips in expectance to find a weapon. When the wood elf found himself unarmed he reacted quicker than Glorfindel thought possible. In the next second, Glorfindel's own dagger was sitting against his bare throat and Penneth's left hand had a tight grip at his tunic.

Shocked, Glorfindel stared into an expressionless face. Suddenly the elfling seemed so much older, his face smooth and not betraying his thoughts. No fear shone in the blue eyes, only a cold determination. This was a warrior who could control himself perfectly.

Slowly, the balrog slayer raised his hands.

"Calm down. It is just me, Glorfindel. Gwador, remember?" He asked carefully.

For a few more seconds the warrior just stared at him. Then, just as sudden, fear crept back into the young face, fear close to panic.

"I am sorry," the Silvan whispered in shock, letting go of the dagger which fell to the ground, only narrowly missing the Silvan's own leg. "I … forgive me … I would never hurt an elf. I swear. Never! You startled me. Forgive me …" The elfling apologized clearly distressed. Glorfindel noticed him wince in pain.

"You were having a nightmare," Glorfindel explained, thus interrupting the elf's apologies.

"Thank you for …" Penneth began timidly before stopping abruptly. His brow furrowed as he stared at Glorfindel as if he had never seen him before. He still held Glorfindel's tunic in one hand and the elf lord could feel the hand beginning to shake. Then, Penneth's eyes widened in surprise.

"You are _the_ Glorfindel. The balrog slayer!" He sounded surprised and his eyes shone wide.

Glorfindel could not help but chuckle at the youthful awe he saw in the young ellon before him.

* * *

Legolas could not believe it. This was Glorfindel! _The_ Glorfindel! The great balrog slayer of Gondolin!

"I ..." Legolas began but did not know how to finish that sentence. He had met Glorfindel before. He had been young, yes, but meeting the balrog slayer had been an unforgettable event. As a child, the elf lord of Gondolin had been his biggest hero and idol. He had wanted to be like him.

Back then, he had trusted Glorfindel, had known he had spoken the truth than he had said they had not intended to harm Eyaenne. Now, however, he was not so sure anymore.

Glorfindel was chuckling in amusement.

"What is going on in that funny head of yours?"

Legolas became suddenly aware that he was staring at the elf lord with dropped jaw and quickly snapped his mouth shut.

"Nothing," Legolas lied quickly, casting his eyes down. How did Glorfindel see him? He did not trust him, yet Legolas did not wish to appear like a weakling in the eyes of his childhood hero. In hindsight, Legolas had not acted very reasonably, had he?

"Do not lie at me," the blond elf said seriously but without reproach. Then Legolas felt a hand wrapping gently around his and for the first time he noticed he still had not let go of Glorfindel's tunic.

"You should lie down. You are shaking and doubtlessly in pain," the elf lord said and pried Legolas' fingers from the fabric of his tunic.

The elf lord was right. He was in pain, quite a lot actually. He whimpered softly, lying down.

"Stay awake for a bit for me, will you?" Glorfindel asked. "I will go get some food for you."

Somehow, the prospect of Glorfindel leaving him alone terrified Legolas. He shot up again, crying out in pain and grabbing Glorfindel's arm.

"Easy there, Penneth. What is wrong?" The blond Noldo furrowed his forehead in confusion.

"Don't leave. Please don't leave," Legolas forced himself to say, feeling himself shaking even more. He did not want to be alone. Not here. Not in Imladris where he felt so terribly vulnerable and weak. If nothing else the balrog slayer appeared honest. Somehow the word 'gwador' kept ghosting through Legolas mind.

"It's all right. Calm down, little one. I will stay, I promise. Let me just tell the twins to go get you some food. I won't be a minute and your friendly tree here will protect you against any harm. Apparently, it likes you a lot more than us. I am sure it would defend you vigilantly against any Noldor trying to harm you."

Legolas turned his head towards the tree, not even noticing how heavily he leaned against Glorfindel's right shoulder in his weakened state.

"Yes," he said after a few long seconds. "He would."

Still, Legolas could not help himself but be anxious as the blond warrior left him under the tree. The pain blazing hotter and hotter in his veins did not help either. He looked around, for the first time since he was lucid. He was in a massive garden. To his right, the wall of a beautiful house was standing high into the sky. Only about one hundred meters ahead of him he could see wide stairs leading up to a door inside the main house. The garden itself was beautifully designed and somehow it retained a wildness which was seldom found in gardens. Tall trees stood proudly scattered over the area. However, no matter how hard Legolas tried he could not hear their voices. He suddenly became aware how still everything was. He was used to the trees whispering softly, not to him but amongst themselves. He was so attuned to his home forest he could hear their murmuring like a soft wind in the back of his head. It was always there. Now, everything seemed empty.

Panicking, Legolas turned and moaned in pain, having to close his eyes to remain conscious as he pressed both his hands against the lime tree. Almost immediately the tree's voice filled his head and he sighed softly in relief.

He remained like this for several minutes, trying to breathe through the everlasting pain, tears leaking his eyes.

"Stop biting your lip," Glorfindel's voice ordered and Legolas opened his eyes again.

"It hurts," he explained, wishing for nothing else but the stabbing pulses to subside.

"I can imagine. We were all surprised you were even alive. Right now the only thing keeping you together are the stitches the healers had to put into you. Which is why you mustn't move, do you understand? You are strong, child, but you cannot go on like this. It will kill you if you refuse help and act stubbornly." Glorfindel waited for several seconds to let his words sink in and all Legolas could think about was his ada. His ada was waiting for him in Mirkwood. He could not die. He did not want to. He wanted to live. A sob broke free from his chest, followed directly by an agonized cry.

"Lord Elrond has something against the pain if you allow him to give it to you, Penneth."

"Yes," was all Legolas managed to press through his teeth. In an instant he could feel someone else kneeling beside him.

"Penneth, I am Lord Elrond. I swear to you I will not harm you. This drink is nothing but a very strong pain reliever. It will make you feel a bit confused and –"

Legolas did not listen anymore. The pain was too much. He simply grabbed the goblet. Hands steadied him and held onto the cup, helping him to drink as much as possible though he still was spilling loads of it.

"Let go of me," Legolas whispered with a deadly edge to his voice when the hands did not immediately leave his skin after taking the goblet away. So far the effect had not kicked in and Legolas barely understood what was going on around him. However, he still did not even trust the Noldor as far as he could walk in his weakened state.

"Why do you not trust us?" Glorfindel asked as if reading his thoughts but the hands on Legolas' body did vanish.

"Give me one good reason why I should," Legolas bit out between his teeth. "I have seen Prince Alcanor's scar and have heard the stories told in Mirkwood." He had to stop for several seconds to catch his breath, his face contorted into a grimace as he once again bit his lip to keep from crying out. A minute later he went on:

"They came to Imladris to negotiate and were attacked. You nearly killed Prince Alcanor and the king. Our king was so weakened after pushing his energy into his son to save the Prince's life, he barely made the journey home and even then he needed months to regain his strength.

I have seen Princess Eyaenne when she arrived at the fortress. I have heard the trees' yells and screams, have heard their mourning songs and had them plead in my mind to help them even though I could not. Their voices were heard through all of Mirkwood. They begged me to help but I was but a child, barely understanding what they wanted. I was washed away with the intensity of their emotions. I lost consciousness then their voices first reached me.

Prince Alcanor might have let you go with nothing but a scar and I might believe your innocence and yet the trees' voices are so hard to forget. They hated you for what they thought you did and whether you actually meant to harm her or not, their voices and pleas still ring within me." Legolas turned to notice the two identical faces and yet he instinctively knew which one was Elrohir. The elf had paled drastically and stared at him with wide eyes. Legolas met the grey stormy eyes without difficulty. His body convulsed when another wave of pain washed over him.

"Give me one good reason as to why I should trust you," Legolas repeated and felt the tears streaming over his face, his gaze still locked with Elrohir's.

He had been careful to not mention he had been there to talk with Glorfindel and the twins, that he had been the one who deemed them innocent. Instead he mentioned he had been at the palace to see Princess Eyaenne arrive, which was a lie. As he flickered his eyes to Glorfindel though, this time the balrog slayer had not caught onto the lie.

* * *

Lord Elrond sighed as he took the goblet from the ground and stepped several meters away. The words of the Silvan had touched him deeply and he could not fault the young warrior. He had seemed scared and angry at the same time, not to speak of the pain which undoubtedly still wrecked his body. Elrond wished he could simply explain that the things were not the way they seemed, that they had never intended harm upon his people. And yet, what use would that be? The wood elf himself had admitted he thought Elrohir innocent and yet was unable to forget the animosity towards the Noldor the trees had cause from within him. It might not be logical but since then could emotions be controlled by logic?

Also, there truly was no reason Elrond could name as to why the wood elf should trust them. Nothing besides: 'We want to help you and do not mean any harm' which was something the Silvan clearly did not believe.

At least the warrior had accepted the pain reliever from Elrond. Elrond winced thinking about how agonizing the pain must have been to get the little one to accept the offer so readily, so greedily. Penneth's tears still shocked him and he knew Elrohir was feeling pretty bad as well.

Elrond looked into the sky and worried once again. It was going to rain. They had to get the wood elf inside for laying on cold damn ground and rain wetting him through to his bones would definitely manage what the wounds and the poison and lack of nutrition had not managed and kill him.

"Penneth," he said turning around to the warrior laying underneath the great lime tree. The warrior winced and Elrond felt instantly guilty. He could see the shaking hands clenched in fists and he did not dare to step any closer, afraid of causing another panic attack.

"It is going to rain. If you stay out here you will catch a fever. We need to get you inside. Will you allow us to do that?" Silently, he wondered what he should do if the Silvan refused. He could not leave him outside.

"Alright. I will go and get a stretcher and – stay still Penneth! No, you will NOT walk, is that understood?" Elrond heard Glorfindel say and he had to smile about the exasperated tone his old friend used with the wounded elf.

Glorfindel returned with a stretcher and set it to the ground next to the wounded. Elrond watched his sons kneel down next to Penneth and help Glorfindel lift the lithe body onto the stretcher by grasping the blanket Penneth was laying on. Still, a soft moan had escaped the lips of the wounded elfling.

* * *

His vision began to darkening and something in the back of his mind whispered something about symptoms. He had been poisoned by orcs, he knew that. Apparently that poison was still in his system.

The tree began waving its branches in distress when the pain became overbearing and tore throaty moans from Legolas lips.

Glorfindel lifted his eyes to find the wood elf tensed in obvious pain. Tears ran over childishly soft cheeks. Moans came over the Silvan's lips. Should the pain-reliever not show its effect by now? Glorfindel wondered.

"What is it? Penneth, what is it?" Glorfindel asked worriedly.

"Elladan!" He called over his shoulder and in the next second both of the twins arrived at his side.

"He is cramping," Elladan said. "Hold him down, I will run and fetch something against the pain and a muscle relaxant."

"Shit," Elrohir cursed as suddenly dark crimson blood came out of Penneth's mouth.

"Ada!" He called over to his father who had been so deep in thought he hadn't realised what was going on. Brown eyes snapped towards them and Elrond hurried over.

"What happened?" Elrond demanded to know, pinning down a flailing limp.

"I don't know. We got him on the stretcher and he suddenly started cramping."

"Penneth, can you hear me?" Elrond asked, leaning over the blond elf and holding his head still, lifting one lid to inspect the Silvan's eyes.

"It is the orc poison," he stated after a few more examinations. "The antidote I gave him against the poison did not fully work and only prolonged the time the poison needed to affect his body. It seems to have reacted with the pain-reliever in some way."

"Do you have the antidote?" Elrohir asked.

"No, I have never encountered this poison. I will have to try an antidote not specifically designed to fight this poison and hope for the best. Elladan, healing wing, left cupboard, second board left side, round flask with milkfish-white liquid in it." The older twin jumped to his feet and sprinted back into the house.

"Hold him still. Glorfindel, make sure he does not drown on his own blood. For how long has he been like this?"

"Three minutes."

As if that was his cue, the elf relaxed, gasping for air. Tears ran out of the corners of his eyes and the hand on Glorfindel's tunic opened and closed several times.

* * *

Poison, poison, poison. It was poison. Legolas' confused mind kept repeating it over and over again. White agony washed over his body. He could not breath, could not see, not talk. There was nothing but the intense hot pain. Had he not suffered enough? Had he not experienced enough pain to last forever in these last few weeks? He could not take it anymore. It was simply too much!

Once again he begged for his father to get him out of here, called for his brothers and sisters, called for his comrades, for Eriandras, Feriell and Merion but no one would help him. They were dead, Legolas remembered. Eriandras and the rest of his patrol. They were all dead.

He coughed and felt warm blood running over his chin. From the distance he heard what sounded like a soft, gentle song. He gave into the sound and just listened to it, feeling the pain slowly retreat even though it did not vanish completely.

Poison. He could still feel its heaviness in his limps. He recognized the poison, having had it in his system before. It was one of the nastier ones that the orcs had just recently invented.

"Moonflower," he listed the first herb needed for the antidote. He immediately regretted having spoken for his throat screamed in pain at being used. Still, he needed the antidote. "Athelas, beech bark …. Gen … genna root, garlic and oregano oil." He sighed deeply, allowing himself to retreat further into his consciousness.

"Penneth, listen to me. You have to stay awake, do you hear? Gwador, look at me, look at me."

A persistent voice interrupted his peace. Sluggishly, he opened his eyes. He was suddenly so tired. Why wasn't he allowed to sleep? "Elrond is making your antidote. You did a good job telling him what he needed. You just have to hang in there a little while longer, do you understand?"

Legolas laughed roughly causing more blood to sputter over his face and throat. This poison was not designed to kill quickly. He had a few more hours or even days to suffer before it finished him off.

"Poison …" he rasped, gasping for air. "Won't kill …. Not yet …. Have … time, lot of time…. A day … two?" For some reason he could not stop his bitter laughter until the pain became too much and he passed out …. Again. Oh, he was so sick of it.

* * *

Glorfindel had been horrified to listen to Penneth's bitter laughter. Blood had come out of his mouth with the cruelly joyless sound and made the entire situation more like a nightmare than anything else. How could someone so young be so bitter?

His hands were covered in blood and he held Penneth's head to the side so that any further blood could leave his mouth without choking the elf.

* * *

**Please review!**

**A big thanks to my betas Jaxzan Proditur and Swallow-tailed kite!**

**Megan:** Thank you very much for your vote of confidence :D I will never discontinue this story, even if it sometimes does take a while to update. I am too stubborn to do something like that. I am glad you seem to like Elrond. I find him very difficult to write

**Guest1345: **Well, so far Legolas does not trust the Noldor at all. Maybe Glorfindel a bit.

**Guest3791: **Thank you for your review! This chapter came after only two weeks thanks to the many reviews, so keep them up!

**Guest#1: **Yeah, I just could imagine them standing under the tree with no idea what to do next ;D And yes, Elrond does not deserve the mistrust directed at him, and yet he understands and still keeps trying to do what is right

**Guest#2: **Thank you for your review! Legolas has a special connection to the trees, even compared to other SIlvans. Also, I just can imagine him to be the kind of person who everyone instantly likes

**Lord Illyren: **Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!


	24. 24: Feeding the Fire

The balrog slayer had been trying to fall asleep for the last three hours, but each time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Penneth coughing up blood and he could hear the joyless, bitter laughter the young elfling had emitted. After Penneth had rasped the ingredients necessary for the antidote, Elrond had not needed long to create it. After managing to get the warrior to drink the concoction, it had not taken long for his condition to improve.

"Celebrian!" Glorfindel spoke to the Lady and stepped up to her. There was a sadness surrounding her which caught his attention.

"Ah, it is you," Celebrian said after turning around. "I was just in the healing wing."

"Is he better?" Glorfindel wondered, sensing the wood elf was at least partly the reason for her sadness.

"He woke up for a few minutes," the blond she-elf quietly replied, seemingly deep in thought. She kept quiet for a few moments, before she admitted: "He mistook me for his mother."

"He must still be a bit confused with the antidote only just fighting the poison," Glorfindel frowned. "Surely you do not mind terribly? Or did he say or do something inappropriate?"

"No," the lady said. "He did not. Not at all." She sighed. "He thanked me for waiting for him. Then I asked him there he thought we were, he said we were in Mandos' halls and that he had known I would wait for him there. His mother is dead and he thinks he is dead, too."

"Oh." Now Glorfindel understood. The innocent elfling had lost so much in his few years and this touched Celebrian's motherly heart and did awake her protective instincts.

"He asked where is Ada was," Celebrian went on. "I told him I did not know and he was surprised his Ada had not arrived yet. He said if he had died his Ada would fade and that we should wait for him to arrive. Then he wondered whether we would have to wait for his siblings as well or if they would be able to survive. He told me he missed me and then he fell back asleep."

"He thinks his family will die if they believe him dead?" Glorfindel made sure he understood correctly and felt himself grow cold. He could only hope Penneth's family would not give up on him and die. He would never be able to forgive himself if they died because he and the others tried to save the wood elf and kept him here. If Penneth only gave them his real name, then they could send a message to Mirkwood and his family to ensure they knew he was alive and well.

"Did he say anything else? Did he mention a name by any chance?"

"He called one of his brothers Al, but I think that is only a nickname. I asked him but I am afraid he did not even hear me."

* * *

Legolas had woken with his eyes almost swollen completely shut. His throat burned, his entire body ached, his lips were cracked and his eyes felt dry. This was all he seemed to experience in the last few weeks. He woke up to be in extreme pain until he lost consciousness once again to have a few blissful hours of rest before the torture began again. While awake he was tense and afraid, he was in a strange place and his mind kept screaming for him not to trust the Noldor. And yet, no matter how hard he fought to scramble back from them, his weakened body disobeyed his panicked orders to move. Only Glorfindel's presence seemed to calm him instead of setting him on flames and the word _gwador _gained a whole different meaning. Also, he could not help himself but look at the Lady Celebrian with longing filling his heart. Even though her features were different, her eyes and her kind laughter brought back painful memories of his diseased mother into his mind.

He did not talk, for one because his throat was too sore, for the other because he did not wish to interact with the Noldor. He just wanted all this to end and to wake up in the Royal Healing Ward with his siblings nearby to realise it had all been a bad dream born in a fever or something similar.

He simply pressed his lips together when he was asked a question, even if it was something simple as to whether he was feeling well. Only jerky nods and shaking of his head were given as answers.

* * *

Glorfindel entered the healing wing with both of the twins accompanying him and his blue eyes moved over to where Penneth was lying. The elf seemed small in the big bed which had been moved directly under the closed window. Rain hit heavily against the glass and odd rattling noises were heard outside as the wind whipped against anything in reach. From time to time dark grumbling shook the sky, followed by a flash of light. The storm was powerful.

For the last few days the sky had been overcast and rain had been falling every now and then. It was damp and entirely uncomfortable outside. This morning, the heavy storm had set in.

The twins greeted Penneth and began lighting the various candles in the healing ward as even though it was the middle of the day the heavy storm clouds swallowed most natural light. Penneth was awake, staring outside. He did not acknowledge any of them. Elladan carefully watched the closed-up elf. His hands were held in fists, grabbing the sheets. Every time a bright lightning bolt flashed in the darkness he flinched slightly.

"Are you afraid of the storm?" Elladan wondered surprised.

"No," a steady voice replied.

"Do not lie to us, Penneth," Glorfindel reprimanded gently.

Penneth turned his head to look at them and he caught the twins eyes.

"How does he do that?" the Silvan asked, clearly annoyed. It was the first time he had spoken anything more than two words since he had been coughing up blood. Elladan could not resist but let out a deep laugh.

"Oh, I have no idea. I never got a lie past him either. However, my dear brother and I developed the skill to run very fast. That is the only way you can possibly escape him, believe me!"

"I have always found that days like this one are perfect days for storytelling," Elrohir said, pulling a chair closer to the bed and sitting down.

"Did you know," Elladan began, crossing his arms on his knee and began talking about the fine skill of rearranging an entire library overnight in order to annoy a very orderly librarian named Erestor. Elrohir joined in and though Penneth did not seem entirely convinced, he did allow them to distract him from the storm outside. Meanwhile, Glorfindel got himself a book and settled in a comfortable chair to read.

"And there was this one time, just before your king arrived in Rivendell," Elladan was saying animatedly. This caught Glorfindel's attention. He could remember the harmless incident: He had been coated in honey and feathers when he had tried to enter the main house. However, that was not why he suddenly became vigilant. He could see Penneth tense and his features which had settled into a relaxed and amused smile during last few hours turned stern and cold. Mentioning the Mirkwood Crown Prince and the King clearly had not been a good idea.

"Elladan, Elrohir," Glorfindel stopped them and nodded reproachfully towards the young Mirkwood warrior. Penneth just turned his head to look outside again. The storm had stopped and the blue sky was visible once more. Water kept dripping over branches and into puddles but the rain itself had stopped.

"We did not harm your prince, you know?" Elrohir said sadly. "We actually quite liked him. We were not much older than him and we knew nothing of war and bloodshed. Why would we have attempted to murder him?"

"That," Penneth replied sharply. "is exactly what I have been wondering all along. And yet all you say is: We did not do it. Who did it then? Because I am positive Alcanor did not slit his own throat and I am positive my king did not do it either. It was not one of our own. So who was it? All you ever damn say is that empty phrase! You did not even sent a letter to explain what had happened. Who attacked Alcanor? How was the attacker punished? Why did he do it? So many questions and you left all of them unanswered!" Again, Penneth seemed so much older in his anger. Not a smidgeon of fear radiated from him but a determination which made obvious that even though he looked like it, this elfling was no child but a warrior, and a seasoned one at that.

Glorfindel closed his book.

"Your king and prince were attacked by a member of the council. His name was Eranion. He had views we do not share. He thinks that Silvans are beneath us and not worth our attention, that they are wild beasts and that no Sinda or Noldo should mingle with them. As I said, only few of us share his opinion. Surely in your forest there are people with similar opinions? There are always strays."

"So you do not think so? You do not think I am a cruel wild beast that is beneath you simply because I am perhereg?" Penneth asked suspiciously, his body tense as if he expected to be attacked upon the confession.

Glorfindel raised both brows in surprise. So not a Silvan after all, he thought to himself, a half-blood. Also, was the word 'perhereg' not used as an insult? Surely the elfling would not identify himself with an insult, would he? However, judging by the way Penneth had pronounced the word, he himself was using it as an insult to himself. Glorfindel frowned.

"I was not aware there were other perheregs besides Thranduil's children," Elrohir said quietly and even though his words were blunt enough to seem insulting, somehow he managed to convey that he did not view half-bloods as elves of lesser value.

"Do I look like a prince to you, Lord Elrohir?" Penneth snorted and winced as he gently leaned back against the pillow once more.

"Well, no, but if you had seen Glorfindel covered in honey and feathers you would know that sometimes even the greatest among us look anything but," Elladan grinned as he tried successfully to lighten the tense atmosphere.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. Upon feeling Penneth's questioning gaze upon him he went on with his explanation:

"Eranion attacked your king as Thranduil defended the Silvan line. Never have I suspected Eranion to be able of such violence. I stopped him as quickly as I could but it was already too late. Lord Elrond attempted to help Prince Alcanor but Thranduil threw him back to press his own energy into his son instead. We were shocked and disgusted by Eranion's behaviour."

Penneth seemed pained as he listened intently to Glorfindel's explanation. It seemed he wanted to believe it, but he was clearly struggling to do so.

"She forgave me, you know," Elrohir added calmly. "Your Princess forgave me."

Too soon, Glorfindel thought. Elrohir should have given Penneth more time to mull over the explanation he had been given so far. It was not a surprise to him when the Silvan – no, perhereg, Glorfindel reminded himself – retaliated as if attacked.

"And when would that have been?" Penneth snarled, clearly not believing his words and angry about the supposed lie.

"Just a few days before we found you, actually," Elrohir remained calm. "I went to Mirkwood to stand before the king. I did not get to meet him as he just rode to war, but I did –"

"What!" Penneth erupted, suddenly sitting straight up before scrunching up his face in obvious pain. "What do you mean the king rode to war?!" Wide blue eyes stared at Elrohir who had stilled the moment he realised what he had just done.

* * *

Legolas felt his breath coming short and gasps catching in his chests. The king had ridden to war. To WAR! He felt himself blanching as he realised why exactly his Ada had taken this step: His patrol was gone. His entire patrol was dead! In the last few days he had managed to force his mind to think about other things. Now however, his inner eye showed him the corpses of his dead friends again. Eriandras, Feriell, Merion and Jarans were gone. So were Cyras, Learon, Neliell, Ferienne, Leras and all the others! Never again would he hear the voices of any of them, would hear their laughter as they pulled their jokes on his expense. They all died because he did not retreat earlier. Why had he not retreat behind the safety of the borders? It wasn't as if Legolas had not realised the danger they were in.

"They are all dead," Legolas whispered and an entire different pain tore through his chest as everything came rushing back into his tired mind. They were all dead. Slain by orcs beyond the borders of his beloved Realm. And now the king had ridden to war. Surely the other patrols had succumbed to the Darkness as well.

"I have to go," Legolas said and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His family must believe him dead if they had found what was left of his patrol. They were at war. He needed to go home! Legolas did not realise how tears rolled quietly over his cheeks.

"You will stay here," Glorfindel said and narrowed his eyes dangerously.

Legolas looked up. He would not stay, definitely not.

"You will let me go," he said darkly, his blue eyes set ablaze with determination. "I must return to my people."

"No!" The word sounded sharp and Legolas got to his feet, bending slightly over as to not stretch the stitches so far to cause himself to black out again. The twins now stood side by side behind Glorfindel who folded his arms across his chest. They looked at each other and the two dark haired elves seemed unsure of what to do.

"So I am a prisoner," Legolas concluded bitterly, his lips contorted.

"No, you are not. We just cannot let you go," the blond elf lord said.

"My king has called to arms. I will not sit here while my friends bleed for our forest, while they suffer even though the information I possess could aid them. If I am not a prisoner, you will let me go," Legolas said dangerously quiet, everything inside him urging him to go return to Mirkwood, tell his father he was still alive, tell them not to go south, tell them about the dangers there. He could not stay here, no matter how bad he felt. He had to go. There was no other choice.

"I cannot let you go!" Glorfindel repeated.

Legolas glared at him and then made to step around him. Glorfindel grabbed his arms and Legolas wrest himself free.

"Don't you dare touch me!" he hissed angrily, hoping his hostility would keep the balrog slayer away. However, instead he was just grabbed again, even though this time more to stop his swaying figure from toppling over than anything else.

"Let me repeat myself, Penneth: You will not be leaving Imladris and in the next few days you will not even be leaving this healing wing. Do I make myself clear? You are too weak to get away without me stopping you. So do yourself a favour, little one, and return to this bed because otherwise I will make you."

Legolas tried again to wrest his arm free from the tight grip Glorfindel had on him, but the balrog slayer was unrelenting. Instead his finger only dug deeper into Legolas' arm and the elfling screamed as they hit some stitches underneath the layer of linen. The wood elf did not see the regret and guilt shining vividly in Glorfindel's eyes as the balrog slayer steadied the swaying elf. One moment later, Legolas found himself sitting on the bed again with a pair of hands pressing lightly down on his shoulders. Despite this he attempted to get up once more only to be gently pushed back into the pillows.

"You will stay here, Penneth," Glorfindel whispered quietly enough for only Legolas to hear. "I wish you no harm and I will always protect you and be it from your own stupidity. Now, either you will be a good little elfling and lay down or I will personally see to it that you are being bound to this bed. It is for your own good and one day you will thank –"

He did not get any further as Legolas spit into his face. Glorfindel's expression turned stony and dangerous, however, he simply raised his hand to wipe the spittle away and stood straight, giving Legolas a long look.

Legolas still wanted to do nothing but get up and yet he took the threat of the elf lord seriously. Legolas felt more than just intimidated. For the first time, he was scared of Glorfindel.

Ignoring his audience he screamed his anger out, still not realising the tears washing over his face as he thought about his home. They had gone to war. He felt himself blanching with the thought. War was ugly, bloody and painful. He hated and mourned the situation in Mirkwood he was accustomed to, the many patrols, the spiders and orcs, the dark trees insulting his every step and the light trees begging him for help even if he could not do anything himself and felt utterly helpless. And now all this cruelty had intensified once more, the pain had risen and the amount of blood spilled on the grounds of the forest was greater than ever before. To war. They had ridden to war. And here he was, a prisoner of the Noldor. Oh, Glorfindel might refuse to actually say it, but Legolas knew he was a prisoner. They kept him here against his will, threatened to bind him. That was the only reason he followed the orders of the blond elf lord: He was afraid of actually being bound to the bed. There was nothing worse than shackles, chains and bonds.

* * *

Red eyes shone in the dark light tiny torches. The lithe figure of an elf sat high above the ground in the branches of a darkened tree. Towards the dark elf who did not shine like the other elves did for his fea was trapped deep inside, the tree did not behave cruelly. It simply ignored the creature, for it was not bothering the tree. The figure was sitting so still it seemed as if it was made of solid rock. Glowing red eyes roved the ground below, monitoring a large band of about a hundred orcs making camp. They were not so dissimilar, the orcs on the ground and the elf-like creature in the tree. Not as different as one would have thought, because inside the elf was the same darkness which possessed the orcs underneath.

Orc-Alcanor jumped to the ground, startling the beasts. He snarled. The orcs stared at him, their weapons clutched into their disfigured hands. They did not attack. Instead they simply stared at the figure they recognised to be one of their own kind. They felt that the strong, tall and proud figure was an orc just like themselves. And yet his appearance confused them and froze them at the spot.

"Who is your leader?" Orc-Alcanor hissed in the dark language.

"Grerz," a few orcs snarled and nodded over to an extraordinarily disgusting orc. Yellow teeth stood crookedly out from underneath a crippled lip, cruel eyes set deeply into their sockets. The orc's brownish skin seemed slimy and wet. Orc-Alcanor did not care in the slightest.

"You lead them?" orc-Alcanor asked darkly.

The orc made an affirmative grunt. "Yes, these filthy scum listen to me."

A blank blade shone in the darkness and in the next second only gurgling noises were heard.

"Not anymore," orc-Alcanor snarled, twisting the elegant blade and watched the black blood run over the steel with satisfaction shining in his eyes. Slowly, he drew it back, lifting it to his lips to lick the tenacious blood from the blade. The dark blood contrasted aggressively against his pale lips and the white skin of his chin. Red eyes flared up as he looked upon the band of orcs. No one challenged him. His strong appearance and the aura of pure darkness which shone around a figure normally only seen shining with light, kept them in their places. They would not rebel against their new leader. Not even orcs were this stupid.

A feral grin spread over bloody lips.

"Let us hunt elves!" orc-Alcanor snarled with nothing but hatred in his chest.

* * *

**Please review!**

**Thank you to my beta-readers Jaxzan Proditor and Swallow-Tailed Kite!**

**Tinuviel: **Thank you for your review! I hope you will stick to the story and keep reviewing! Those little messages are my writing motivation! I usually update every three weeks. AT the moment I am doing good and I manage to update every two weeks and I will try to keep that up, but I do not make any promises, as real life happens :D

**Guest1345: **I can tend to stretch some things out a bit :D However, I hope I do so in an entertaining and believable way. Updates (at the moment) every two weeks. If I can't manage, it'll be every three weeks. If there is no update after that, life has interfered and I will try my best to update asap!

**Guest: **Another quick update! You are welcome! :D

**Megan: **I feel bad for Legolas too. I give him a lot of problems at the moment. About Thranduil: You will have to be patient and wait and see and I will hope I can entertain you along the way and satiesfy your hopes with what I will eventually do

**Rita Orca: **Thank you for droping in a review! At the moment I update every two weeks to the day, but I am doing well. Usually I take a bit longer and it is every three weeks to the day. Sometimes, life interferes, but I try to update reguarly. Please, I would be delighted to read more reviews from you. Reviews always make me smile and lighten my day as well as motivate me to write more (and therefore update quicker :D ) And they are the only 'pay' I get for writing, so I love them!

**kei: **Sorry ... not quite yet. It might take some time.

**Lord Illyren: **Well ... I guess that will have to wait for a bit more. At the moment, he does not come close to trust the Noldor anytime soon ... even though it looked good at first

**AraloththeRandom:** Thank you for your review! I hope you will stick to the story and keep reviewing! Those little messages are my writing motivation! I usually update every three weeks. AT the moment I am doing good and I manage to update every two weeks and I will try to keep that up, but I do not make any promises, as real life happens :D Also, thank you for your compliments about that speech :D


	25. 25: Lost In Thought

Legolas stared against the wooden ceiling above his bed. He was tired and his eyes were still swollen. The first night after he had found out his people had gone to war he had attempted to flee his prison, for this was what Imladris had become for him. He had only made it two or three swaying steps before he had crashed to the floor. The next morning found him back in his bed and Glorfindel had been sitting next to him, with a disapproving frown upon the elegant brow, but the elf lord had remained silent. Since then, Legolas had given up on trying to escape for now. He knew he was too weak to ever make it to Mirkwood if he did not even manage to leave the healing wing without help. Not that he had given up on his plan, quite on the contrary: He was as determined as ever to break out and return home. However, he figured he would have to think it through a bit more. For now, there was nothing he could do besides healing. Therefore, even though fear still seared through him whenever he saw one of the dark-haired Noldor, he allowed the Lord of Imladris to attend to his wounds. Whenever Elrond unwrapped the bandages to check on the stitches and to put fresh cream on the healing wounds, Legolas' blue eyes fixed on Glorfindel. Somehow, despite the anger and the feeling of betrayal he felt towards the blond balrog slayer, he could not get the word gwador out of his head. It seemed to have burned itself into his very thoughts.

Glorfindel had noticed the attention the elfling gave him as soon as apparent fear washed over the perhereg elf. Therefore, he had taken to stand only a few meters away whenever Elrond checked up on Penneth. He kept his arms crossed and a stern look upon his face and yet Penneth still seemed assured to see him. This gave Glorfindel hope that, eventually, Penneth would come around and learn to trust them. He hated the way Penneth acted as it showed clearly that none of his fear had diminished and that the young warrior thought of himself as a prisoner.

Every single day Penneth demanded to be allowed to go, his jaw set and his eyes cold. And every time Glorfindel saw him like this he saw himself reminded how grown up and hardened the elf seemed, despite his obvious youth. He had made it to his routine to check up on the wounded elf every morning before dawn and wait until the elf woke up. However, the last two nights he had had to wake Penneth up who had been caught in cruel nightmares. Penneth kept calling out in his dreams, yelling and screaming in the silvan tongue. The sentence 'they are all dead' came over the pale lips as soon as he was fully awake. Glorfindel had been wise enough to put his dagger out of reach after he had found the blade pressed against his bare neck a second time. And yet Penneth still clasped his tunic with a surprising strength.

"Who were they?" Glorfindel wanted to know after waking Penneth from yet another nightmare, the third time in the last three days.

"The members of my patrol," Penneth answered to Glorfindel's great surprise. His voice lacked all emotion and yet his shaking hands betrayed his inner turmoil.

"Is that why you were so far south?"

Penneth nodded almost unnoticeable. He stared out of the window, his hair hanging wildly into his face obscuring his features.

"You were attacked."

"It was my fault," Penneth admitted quietly. "I insisted that we go on when I should have ordered our return behind the safety of our borders. My pride killed my entire patrol. I knew it was dangerous. I could feel it in the air. Even the trees threatened us, laughed about every mishap and blackened my soul. I knew and instead of ensuring the safety of my people, I led them into death. I should have retreated, should have been more careful, I should have listened to my brother's words of warning, to my instincts screaming at me to go. Now, my friends hunt my dreams and ask me why? Why did I put my pride before their lives? Why did I care so much to fulfil my king's wishful orders? Had I returned and explained it was impossible to do as he asked, my king would have understood. He would not have sacrificed the lives of my patrol for nothing." Legolas could not stop himself, the words simply fled his lips. All his guilt washed over him. Once again he saw Eriandras' face as his faithful friend dropped his own sword and instead ran over to him, Eriandras' body smacking into his in order to protect him from the arrows. Eriandras' decaying body laying heavily on his chest, stealing his breath. It was all his fault. Their deaths were all his fault! He should have noticed sooner, should have led them better. He had failed them. More familiar faces from his nightmares took solid forms before his inner eye. They stared at them with dead eyes, accusing. They pointed their fingers at him, asking him why he had been so ignorant.

Legolas lurched to the side of the bed and started retching. After a while his stomach was empty and he only heaved dry breaths. Shaking, he pushed himself back against the pillows, pale and sweaty. Glorfindel wordlessly brought a damp cloth and gently wiped his forehead.

"I wish I had died too," Legolas stated guiltily.

"Every leader makes mistakes, Penneth. You seem to care deeply about your friends and you did lead them to the best of your abilities. We can only ever try to perform at our best, everything else is beyond our control. Do you think I have not lead friends into their deaths? I have carried the same guilt you are carrying right now. You can't allow for it to overwhelm you."

Legolas was not listening as the balrog-slayer continued talking. Instead he looked outside. It was his fault his patrol was dead. And now it was his fault that many more elves were dying in Mirkwood. King Thranduil had gone to war, undoubtly not only to revenge the dead but also in a vain attempt to save him, Legolas. Did they know he was still alive? Probably not. The bodies of his elves had been decaying for several weeks now. They would barely be able to identify them at all. Legolas groaned as he realised they would have to identify the bodies with only the clothing they were wearing and the weapons they bore. He had given Merion his tunic, the tunic with the stitching of the Royal Family around the neck. And Merion had been using Legolas' weapons as well, as the prince had had no use for them in his injured state and Merion had lost his own. Furthermore, Merion's blond hair would make whoever found the body think it was him, the youngest prince of the woodland Realm.

He had to leave. He felt a lot better already. Moving still hurt, yes, but his wounds had healed a great deal under the careful administrations of Lord Elrond and the other healers. They had already taking the first stitches out yesterday evening. All he had to do was wait for a few days longer until he was free of the stitches holding his wounds closed, than he would have to go. Too many elves had died for him, because of him already. He had to return and take up his bow to protect his land.

Rain was hitting the windows yet again. Autumn had closed in with dark clouds and the valley was drowned in the heavy rain drops. People were talking in the room, however Legolas barely listened. That was until the word 'blizzard' suddenly became part of the conversation.

"Where is a blizzard coming up," one of the twins stated.

"Yes, I think so too," the dark wise voice of the Peredhil Lord rang through the healing ward. "We should secure the city. Elladan, Elrohir, it would be great if the two of you could help with that as well. Also, we should send a letter to Lorien as long as we still can: As soon as the blizzard sets in, the High Pass will be blocked for several weeks I'd say. It has been a long time since we had a blizzard like this one coming up. We won't be able to cross for a while, maybe we will even have to wait for the spring before we can do so again."

Legolas tensed and his thoughts froze in shock. A blizzard? The High Pass blocked! He would not be able to return to Mirkwood if the pass was blocked! Legolas' breathing sped up as he began to panic once again. He would be trapped in Imladris! Even if he could escape from here he would not be able to return home!

His left hand touched cold glass, pressing hard against the cool surface as he attempted to touch the tree behind it. His instinct told him to turn to the lime tree even though the window separated them.

Tonight, he would have to flee tonight. There was no other way. He would have to make it somehow, despite his injuries.

Lost in thought, Legolas watched how the rain fell steadily from the sky, finally draining then the sun set and dressed the city into the dark garb of night.

* * *

**I apologize for not answering to reviews this time and also for the short chapter, however, life always decides to mess everything up just when things started going smoothly. I do not know when I will able to update another bit of this story, so please bear with me. I try to give you more asap, but fate can be a mean idiot**


	26. 26: Escape at Midnight

"May I have something to eat?" Legolas requested quietly, staring at his own reflection in the window which became more and more prominent with the darkness outside.

"Of course," Celebrian's gentle voice answered. Legolas closed his eyes and allowed himself for just one moment to believe it was his own mother who spoke to him. The resemblance the two women had shared was uncanny. At least how he remembered Luineth. He found on pictures he could barely identifiy her, even though his father and siblings told him this was exactly how she had looked like. He remembered her differently, but maybe it was more her gentle aura that Celebrian reminded him of and not so much his mother's actual looks.

"How are you feeling, Penneth?" Celebrian asked and handed him a plate, sitting down on the empty chair next to his bed. Legolas had not heard her come into the room and was slightly confused to see that the other Noldor had at some point left him as well.

"Better," Legolas answered quietly and set the plate on the tray Celebrian placed on his knees. Legolas picked up the fork to eat the vegetable stir fry. He awkwardly held the instrument with his left hand. His right hand still did not function properly; he could not move his fingers very much and could not lift his arms higher than to his chest. Lord Elrond had warned him he might never regain full function of his arms ever again. Legolas refused to think about it for it would mean he could never again hold a bow and handle his twin knives or his sword.

After eating as much as he could he timidly asked if he could have a bit of bread as well. While Celebrian left the healing ward to get the food, Legolas lay back down and closed his eyes, focusing on slowing his breath to make it look like he had fallen asleep. He had heard how Glorfindel had told Lord Elrond in worried tone that he still slept with his eyes tightly closed.

He heard Celebrian return and then sigh as she looked down at him. He nearly flinched as the blond Lady leaned down to adjust his covers, before she left the healing ward altogether.

For the next few hours Legolas slipped in and out of sleep, careful to not ever fall into a deep sleep. It was around midnight when Legolas forced his eyes open and carefully sat up, suppressing a wince as he did so. It was dark in the long room, only one candle was light, encased in a glass as to hinder it to fall and set the entire room on flames while the patients slept.

Carefully, Legolas swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, his left hand gripping the headboard. He looked around and found a plate with several slices of lembas bread sitting on the chair were Celebrian had left it. She must have taken it directly from the kitchens without finding an extra plate because for one meal this was way too much food. Lucky for Legolas though. He found a woollen jumper and put it on, then taking the lembas and rolling it into the fabric before putting a knot in it to carry it more easily. He also found his old boots standing under the bed. Putting them on proved to be highly difficult as he could not bend down all the way to his feet with the hole he still had in his torso.

Slowly, his arm slightly outstretched for balance, Legolas made his way to the door. He opened it carefully to look furtively outside. The hallway and the staircase lay in complete darkness, nothing more than shadows in the dark. The elven prince felt the adrenalin washing through him, his heart thumbing loudly in his chest, almost taking his breath.

Without making even the slightest sound, Legolas moved towards the staircase and slowly made his way down, his good hand holding tightly onto the banister.

"And just where do you think you are going?" Glorfindel's stern voice sounded from behind his back. Legolas span around, instinctively raising his hands and crouching down in a defence position. He did not feel any pain with the adrenalin pumping through him.

"You will let me go," Legolas said and his tone of voice left no room for argument.

"Let's get you back to bed, shall we?" Glorfindel said, clearly tense.

"Forgive me," Legolas murmured under his breath and shoved Glorfindel away from him. The balrog slayer stumbled, a look of utter surprise on his face, though Legolas could not see it because of the darkness. He began walking towards the direction of the staircase leading to the garden. Glorfindel grabbed his arm to pull him back, being surpsingly gentle as he did so. Legolas could not stay here. He had to go. Now! So he span around and landed a strong punch against the broad chest of the older elf.

"Penneth!" Glorfindel yelled angrily and surprised about the attack. Legolas felt bad. He had sworn himself to never purposely harm an elf and here he found himself unable to do so. He had to go.

Again, the balrog slayer tried to stop him and Legolas realised with quiet horror that the only way for him to flee this place was to incapacitate the blond Noldor.

Glorfindel sucked in a sharp breath as Penneth expertly stabbed him under the armpit with his braced left hand. His battle honed instincts took over and he ducked under the next attack as the young warrior attempted to hit him against his neck with the side of his hand to render him unconscious.

Shocked, Glorfindel rose both arms to block the next two hits aiming for his torso. Even in his weakened state the young elf before him was proofing to be a talented warrior.

"Penneth, stop this at once!" Glorfindel bellowed, sidestepping the kick to his stomach. Suddenly, he saw stars before his eyes. Damn the darkness! He had not even seen the fist flying to his head! He no longer could simply defend himself, he had to overpower the younger elf! Glorfindel had fought many battles and knew how to fight. In an ordinary fight he would easily be able to kill his opponent. However, this was exactly what he did not want to do! He had no desire whatsoever to hurt the Silvan – perhereg! – elf. And his opponent what covered in painful stitches. There was barely any place left where Glorfindel could strike without causing serious damage to the healing patient of Lord Elrond.

Glorfindel sidestepped yet another precise and powerful attack and blocked the next. At the same time he scanned Penneth's body as far as that was possible in the darkness. His entire right side was out, Glorfindel decided. The hole in his torso caused by an arrow with a cruel head still had not closed. Furthermore, Penneth did have several deep cuts on this side, not to mention the injury close to his shoulder which had harmed both his arm muscles and the bone structure of his shoulder. The way Penneth barely used his right arm to attack him and the lack of strenght behind those attacks also showed his lack of control, which was why the young warrior relayed mainly on his left side. He should be able to place a good hit just under Penneth's left armpit without causing too much damage.

Glorfindel span around and crouched down. Penneth's swing went over his head and the balrog slayer shot forward like a viper and placed a well-aimed hit at the targeted area just underneath Penneth's armpit.

Glorfindel screamed as an agonizing pain suddenly ripped through his chest. In his ears he heard his young opponent scream as well. Instinctively, Glorfindel's right hand went to the origin of the pain. He pressed his hand against a bleeding wound over his left chest, just above the heart. How the hell did this happen? Penneth had not inflicted this pain, he had had no opportunity to. And yet it felt as if someone had sliced his chest open with a sharp knife. It had seared up the same second his fist had made contact with the wood elf's body.

A hand went to Glorfindel's dagger which was, as always, attached to his belt. This tore him out of the unsuspected pain in his chest.

Now, Glorfindel's blue eyes found the glinting blade of the dagger, the sudden pain completely forgotten as he focused on deflecting his own weapon turned against him. He backed away and both his arms came up as he crouched in a defence position. However, Penneth surprised him by simply taking the dagger and throwing it against the far wall, hurling it with enough power so it stuck in the light wood, being out of the way. It was obvious that the elfling had no desire to use such a harmful weapon either.

In the darkness, Glorfindel could hear Penneth's harsh and uneven breath, proofing his unfit state.

"Stop it, Penneth! Just return to the healing wing and I promise we will forget what you did tonight?"

"What I did?" Penneth asked in disbelief. "All I do is trying to get out of this place! Why do you not simply allow me leave! You will not keep me prisoner here any longer. You brought this upon yourself!"

The next blow came and Glorfindel reacted without thought as his hand shot out. An agonizing scream rang through the silence of the night, barely constrained by the wood elf who was clutching his side and leaning over. Penneth fell to his knees, raising his good arm over the head as to block the next blow, which never came. Glorfindel was shocked to see he had dangerously harmed the young one and kneeled down before him.

"Let me have a look," he said, worry lacing his voice. In the next moment a blinding white light appeared before his eyes before everything turned black. The last thing he felt was the cold floor meeting his back.

* * *

**I know, another short chapter, but admit it, this time I updated quickly!**

**Please review!**

**Guest1345:** Thank you. I am happy you continue reading and are giving me so many kind reviews!

**Scathach47:** Nice to see you back :D Am am happy you like the characters so far. There will be a lot of stuff happening in the next few chapters :D

**Aearvir-TheModernDayElf:** Thank you so very much. It makes me so happy whenever I hear someone enjoys my writing. It makes it worth the effort.


	27. 27: Until the end

Lord Elrond was on his way to the healing ward to check on his young patient. It was early in the morning and the sun sent its rays through the windows, illuminating everything in golden light. Elrond had decided to try to talk to Penneth once more. He had to make Penneth understand that he was not a prisoner, but that he could not let him go until he was fully healed. The wise elf-lord had noticed Penneth's attitude and understood that the young warrior thought himself a captive.

Mulling over how he should approach the subject without causing Penneth to shoot him down immediately, Elrond stepped down into the entrance hall.

He stopped dead in his tracks. His brown eyes widened in shock. Lying on the floor was none other than his good friend Glorfindel, obviously unconscious. The stone floor before him was stained with a trail of blood, as if someone with a heavily bleeding wound in his stomach had crawled over the floor to the entrance door.

"Glorfindel!" Lord Elrond rushed to the blond elf's side, checking on his pulse and breathing pattern. Finding nothing wrong, his long, slim-fingered hands ran over Glorfindel's body checking for injuries. He noticed that the fabric of Glorfindel's tunic was dark red with dried blood. Carefully, Elrond peeled the fabric aside to reveal the two scars on the broad chest. The same scars his younger son was also bearing. AT, representing the words 'Alcanor Thranduillion'. On Glorfindel's chest the wounds seemed fresh. It was not as if someone had cut the same letters over the scars, it seemed as if the scars had for some reason broken up again. Quickly checking on the wound, Elrond saw that it was nothing life threatening, though it looked rather painful. Ignoring the wounds, which had stopped bleeding some time ago and seemed clean enough, the Peredhil turned to Glorfindel's face. Gently, he slapped the pale cheeks.

"Wake up, mellon-nin," Elrond said and sighed relieved as the elf indeed groaned and shifted slightly.

"What the –" Glorfindel murmured and slowly sat up, Elrond holding onto his elbow.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was just killed off by a balrog," Glorfindel groaned in jest, resting his head in his hands. "What did that boy do with my head? Feels as if he hit me with a sword pommel and not his damn fist."

"What boy?" Elrond asked, suddenly tense, even though he suspected he knew the answer. His gaze shifted to the blood on the floor while a sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

"Penneth," Glorfindel said and gently probed the open wounds on his chest.

"Glorfindel?" Elrond asked slowly, raising to his feet, his gaze still transfixed by the bloody trail on the stone floor.

"Mmh?" the blond elf hummed and looked up.

"He is gone," Lord Elrond answered, tearing his eyes up to meet the blue counterparts in Glorfindel's suddenly pale face.

"Oh no," the balrog slayer said, guilt entering his eyes as he looked upon the bloody floor. "I hit him Elrond. Some of the stitches must have broken upon. I did not mean to. We have to find him before –" Glorfindel attempted to come to his feet and stopped talking as he swayed slightly. Elrond gently steadied him by taking his elbow. "- before he kills himself," Glorfindel finished.

"Maybe he is still outside," Elrond hoped and left Glorfindel on his own as he hurried to the grand entrance doors. It was easy to follow the trail of blood. Penneth must have pulled himself onto his feet at the door. Elrond found a bloody handprint against the wood and from here on the trail consisted of drops on the sandy pathway.

Ignoring the early song of the birds and the wind in the trees, Elrond followed the blood trail, entering the stables. It was an irony of fate that Penneth seemed to have chosen Glorfindel's faithful horse Nasfáloth to be his ride. Apparently, not only the blond elf lord had taken a liking to the young elf, but also the fiery steed which usually did not allow anyone to touch him besides Glorfindel himself.

Lord Elrond closed his eyes for a brief moment before he turned around and walked back inside the main house. Within ten minutes his sons were standing before him, stormy grey eyes looking at him questionably as the elves were still in their nightwear.

"I need him found!" Lord Elrond concluded his orders several minutes later, staring his pale children in the eyes. "I trust you to bring him back here within the day. Now go and raise the others. Ride out as quickly as you can!"

The twins vanished without a single word, seriousness etched into their young faces and they left their father behind, who suddenly felt very tired indeed.

* * *

Eyaenne swayed as she walked into her cave. Without taking her heavy armour off, she let herself fall onto the mattress, not caring that she ruined yet another set of blankets. She had not endured returning to the stronghold. She had not been able to face anyone. Not after she lost her baby brother and sister, not after Alcanor had faded to be replaced by an orc with his face. It had only been what? – three weeks? Each day had seemed like a century in darkness.

Eyaenne noticed she was crying again, lying on the mattress and hugging the dirty blanket against her chest. She sobbed and found herself unable to stop it. Iarith, Legolas, Alcanor. All gone.

She felt hands grasping her shoulders and someone lifting her to sit upright. Arms circled her and she leaned against the warmth. She let go of the blanket and instead hugged the warm body against her. Long silvery-white hair fell over the shoulder she was crying against and she knew without a doubt that it was Falin who had found her. He did not say anything for he knew there was nothing he could possibly say to make her feel better. She had been avoiding everyone, had fled into a cave that mirrored how it looked inside her: Crampy and cold and dirty and damp.

As often as her body could take it she had set out with only one goal: To kill. Orcs and spiders had fallen under her silver blade and in those few precious moments she had felt alive, had been able to push the deaths of her loved ones away. There was nothing she wanted more than to forget the pain in her chest and slaying the ones who had caused this pain was her way to cope with it. Apparently, Falin's had been to focus on finding her.

She entwined her fingers in Falin's ridiculously long hair and just let herself fall, knowing she was save in her brother's arms.

She woke one day later. Tiredly, she pushed herself up. Falin was lying next to her, his arms around her upper body in a protective stance. His hip-long hair was spread over the thin mattress, letting the tiny cave glow.

"Eyae?" he mumbled and opened his eyes, which had been closed in sleep. Not that it was a surprise, really. They all slept with closed eyes since they had lost their siblings.

Eyaenne hummed in response, stretching her aching limps. She could not bring herself to care about the filth she was covered in. Her inner eye showed her Legolas' decaying body and suddenly she felt sick. She crawled out of the cave just in time to vomit in a nearby bush.

"I can't get it out of my head either," Falin's voice was heard after a few minutes and he let go of her brown curls he had been holding out of her face. His voice was dim and lacked the natural enthusiasm that usually accompanied it.

"He's dead. Tithen-las he … and Al … Iarith… they are all …" Eyaenne could not finish and instead leaned against her brother.

"I can feel myself fading, Eyae," Falin admitted after several minutes of peace between the siblings.

"Me too. What are we fighting for now? I just can't go on anymore," Eyaenne whispered quietly.

"We can't fade," the youngest living prince rasped. "If we do, then they died in vain. I cannot allow it. I mustn't allow it."

"How are the others?" Eyaenne wondered for the first time.

"Daeros and Arahen were only barely holding up the last time I saw them. They sit in Legolas' room, sometimes in Iarith's and or Alcanor's. And they just sit there and stare. The king forces them to eat. He comes in every day and feeds them himself. He is … he is scary, Eyae. Ada, he … lives, but I can barely recognize him anymore. He is so cold. It is as if he had banished all feelings from him. He asked me to look for you too. Do you realise he sent half of Mirkwood's army to search for you? … He takes care of Roewen as well. They say, she has gone around the bent a bit. Well, not more than any of us, I guess. Haven't actually seen her. This is just all so messed up."

"I feel as if I have to do something. Anything. And yet I can't. I want to save Legolas, Iarith and Alcanor but they are already gone. They are gone."

"I spoke with Mithrandir," Falin said, shifting to sit next to Eyaenne and leaning against the tree behind them.

"The wizard? Why?" Eyaenne asked but her voice was so dim it showed she did not actually care.

"He thinks," Falin hesitated. "He thinks Alcanor's fea is trapped in his body. The darkness is holding it down. He can't fade. He can't go on to Mandos' halls."

"No," Eyaenne whispered in despair and the only reason her face remained dry was because she had cried all her tears already. "It can't be!" She buried her face in her hands. Not only had her older brother died, but even in death he was a prisoner of the Darkness? This was just too much! How could the world be so cruel?

"I was going to find a way to set his soul free. Mithrandir is already searching the Royal Library for old texts to help him drive the darkness out of Alcanor's body. If the Darkness is gone, his fea can flee. I will find Alcanor and return him to the stronghold. Hopefully, Mithrandir will find a way to extract the darkness in the meantime."

"You think it is possible?" A hiccup found its way into Eyaenne's voice.

"I do not know. But I have to believe it. I will try anything if it means I can save his soul. Will you help me, dear sister?"

"Until the end," Eyaenne managed to murmur, her face still buried in her palms. Falin stood and reached his hands down to pull her to hair feet. The she-elf sighed, raised her head and took the offered help.

* * *

Thranduil stood at the window, his blue eyes fixed on the tree tops. The king seemed to be cut out of stone, a sculpture of perfect posture and attire. His long white-blond hair was falling over his shoulders like the gently stream of a powerful river. He had his hands folded behind his back but even against his best efforts, they shook heavily.

Underneath the fabric of his robes, he was hiding self-inflicted wounds, five parallel cuts which had already started to heal over. He had not been able to resist. He had been holding Legolas' beautiful daggers in his hands, knowing his youngest son would never again wield them and he had just wanted the emotional pain to stop. Immediately afterwards he had regretted what he had done and disgusted himself for it. How could he dishonour his son by using his weapons to harm himself? These daggers were the only thing he had left of his youngest son. The daggers and an empty bed in the Royal Healing Ward. He could not enter the room anymore. Too many beds stood empty and would never again be used. Ironic, was it not? That he feared the Healing Ward because of its abandoned beds. In the past, it had been the occupied beds stealing his peace of mind and now he wished for nothing more than for his sons and his daughter to be lying in these beds, to weakly smile up at him and allow him to take care of them.

He missed them so much. Nothing could describe the pain I his chest, nothing could compare to it. Oh, he so wished to fade away, to be reunited with his dead children and his beloved wife.

_"Don't you dare, darling! I shall not allow it. You must take care of our children,"_ Luineth's quiet voice rang somewhere deep inside his mind.

A sob broke free form his throat and he shocked himself with it, making him flinch. Forcefully, he willed himself to stay calm, to focus his thoughts on the here and now. Arahen and Daeros were in a bad way and needed him. He had not seen Eyaenne since she had taken off with Alcanor, Falin and one part of the army. He could only pray to the Valar she was save and he worried deeply about her. Falin had gone to seek his sister and Thranduil's heart burned as he recalled that he did not give Falin a single word, let alone gesture, of comfort, then he had left. His mind reminded him how Legolas had looked at him and had said: 'I love you, Ada' and how he had rewarded his baby with silence.

This one decision had cost him so much. Why did he have to order these patrols? Had he not, Legolas would never have been so far south, would never have been in such danger that led to his death. They would not have had to ride to war and Iarith and Alcanor would both still be alive as well. He had ruined everything. One wrong decision and his entire world had shattered.

Thranduil doubled over with guilt, feeling his knees buckling and his body crashing to the stone floor, gasping for air.

I love you too, Legolas, he thought desperately, wishing he could just say this to his face.

* * *

The trees were scary. The twins were often riding through the forest surrounding the Hidden Valley, climbing the steep slopes of the mountains and hunting deer for their table. But today, the trees were different. They were shifting and moving, groaning in the wind and the twins felt whispers in the back of their minds, as if the trees attempted to talk to them.

"Here is more blood!" Elrohir yelled from several paces ahead.

"How fresh is it?" Elladan asked and walked over to where his brother was kneeling on the floor.

"Only an hour or two. We are catching up. He can't be far from here anymore."

Elladan nodded, feeling a shiver of anger in his chest. The wood elf had knocked out Glorfindel, who had only been trying to help. The blond elf lord did not trust easily and so Elladan felt betrayed on his behalf. How did the silvan warrior – perhereg! – warrior dare to go against the balrog slayer who spent so much of his time at his side? He knew he should not be feeling the anger for he himself had seen the fear radiating from the young elfling and he felt sorry for him.

"Let's go!" Elrohir reminded him and Elladan too mounted his horse.

Their grey eyes fixed on the floor for signs of hooves and blood, they slowly rode on. The leaves rustled in a sudden gust of wind and coldness crept into their clothing. Elladan looked up into the sky were heavy dark clouds threatened rain.

**_Calid-amdir!_**

Elladan flinched and his grey eyes sought the shadows underneath the trees.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Calid-amdir," Elrohir agreed. _Light hope_.

"Who is there? Who is speaking?"

The whisper rang again.

"Elladan," Elrohir said slowly. "I think it's the trees."

"Impossible! We are not Silvan elves, Elrohir. We can't hear were voices."

"Normally not, no. But what if they are screaming at us?"

"Why would they scream at us?"

Instead of answering, Elrohir raised his voice.

"What is calid-amdir?" he asked towards the trees.

"This is pointless, Elrohir!" Elladan complained. "We should hurry and catch up with Penneth. That idiot will kill himself if he has not already done so."

**_Calid-amdir!_**

"Shut up, brother, let me try something," the younger twin said, before turning back towards the trees. "_Who_ is calid-amdir? Elrohir? Me?"

Nothing. Only silence answered and the wind in the leaves.

"Do you mean Penneth?" Elrohir tried again, but the silence continued. "The wood elf! Do you mean the perhereg wood elf?" he specified his question, realising that the trees probably did not identify Penneth with the name they had chosen for him.

**_CALID-AMDIR!_**

Loud voices shouted, surprising both of the twins. Elrohir smirked at his twin, before going on.

"We are looking for him. For your calid-amdir. He is hurt. Do you know where he is?"

**_Calid-amdir!_**

The trees suddenly shifted and Elladan's eyes went wide as he watched how their branches changed the way they grew to point in one direction.

"Hurry!" Elrohir caught himself earlier and gave his horse the spurs, hunting through the forest, following the trees. They were trying to show them the way to Penneth. That elfling must be someone very special if he could even get the trees to speak to Noldor in his behalf. And he must be in danger for only then the trees could possibly be desperate and loud enough to reach the twins with their words. Light hope. Somehow the elfling must have deserved that title.

They rode for several minutes, small twigs lashing against their faces and arms. The cold air bit into their lungs.

"Stop!" Elladans voice suddenly rang from behind Elrohir. The younger twin reigned his horse and came to an abrupt stop.

"It's Nasfáloth!" Elladan yelled and Elrohir could see Glorfindel's proud stallion trotting towards them, his hooves dancing in an agitated way. The white fur was coloured with dark fresh blood along the horse's neck and left side. The wood elf was nowhere in sight.

* * *

**Please review!**

**Thanks to my beta reader Jaxzan Proditur!**

**kei: **You can see, Alcanor is still mentioned in this chapter and one way or the other still has a role to play

**Megan:** Thank you very much for your kind words! Love your reviews :D Writing that fight was quite interesting and apparently it turned out rather well

**Guest:** Sorry. I not even intend to write cliffhangers the entire time, but they sorta always end up as one. :D Hope you enjoyed it anyway

**Scathach47:** Eventually they will find out who Legolas truely is. I have several ideas in my head and I promise it is going to be interesting

**Guest:** Here is the update you asked for :P I hope to be able to write a few more chaps in the next three weeks, otherwise I won't have anything to update during my exam time, but I will do my best


	28. 28: New Beginnings

**This chapter includes self-harm!**

* * *

Eyaenne pulled her shirt over her clean skin. Her long brown curls dripped with water. She had finally taken a bath and had to admit, she did feel slightly better now. Her heart sank as she thought about her dead siblings and tears threatened her silver eyes. Biting her lip, she focused on drying her leather armour, which she had cleaned from the layer of mud that had been coating it as well. Setting the leather into the sun to dry a bit more, she tucked her beige shirt into her dark trousers and afterwards kneeled down to bind her leather boots.

"Eyaenne?" she heard Falin's voice ring over.

"I am dressed," she called back and soon after the slim figure of her younger brother appeared between the trees at the side of the creek.

"I spoke with some of our warriors," Falin said and even though his posture was unwavering, his voice was soft and sounded dejected while at the same time his eyes shone with the same sadness Eyaenne knew to be in hers as well. "Alcanor has not been seen since we left him. I refuse to cross our borders again and enter the land of the Darkness, however, if Alcanor has really turned into an orc, it is only a matter of time before he attacks. As Crown Prince he knew everything about our positions. Most of them have been reinforced – thanks to Galdion taking over command as soon as he realised none of us were capable of straight thinking anymore.

"We should go to the Ravenstone Outpost. It is now highly secured but used to be one of our weakest points. If the orc that Alcanor has become will attack, it will be at Ravenstone Outpost. In time, all foul things come forth." Falin smiled wryly as he quoted one of their father's favourite sentences.

"Sounds like a good idea," Eyaenne said, still trying to come to terms with the fact she would have to face the orc who had taken Alcanor's place. It was bad enough to know her siblings were dead. But to actually be confronted with the way how their deaths had been twisted by the Darkness? Could she actually raise her sword against this creature if it looked like her older brother? Like the adult the young elfling had become who had taught her how to hold a sword behind their parent's back? Her older brother, her hero?

Eyaenne shook her head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. Angrily, she wiped her tears away. They needed to capture the orc that had taken her brother's place so that the wizard could set Alcanor's soul free. She owed him that. There simply was no other way. And she could not possibly allow her brother's fa to be trapped by the Darkness for all eternity without being allowed to fade and enter Mandos' halls.

"Let us go then," she said and reached for her leather armour. Falin walked over to her and wordlessly helped her to put it on before handing her the belt with her weapons. One last nod and Falin turned, then orientated himself, before leaving the shore of the river. A few meters into the forest he leapt up to reach for one of the many branches over their heads and to pull himself up. Eyaenne sighed. She preferred walking on the ground to the swaying branches, however, Falin was almost as bad as Legolas had been with his love for the trees and she followed him quickly, before her thoughts once again turn to Tithen-las. Instead she focused her entire thoughts on the new mission ahead: She had to save Alcanor's soul. Her body groaned under the mistreatment she had put it under the last few weeks. However, now she had finally a goal set before her eyes, a mission she would not be allowed to fail for it would not only cause her own death, but Alcanor's soul would be forever lost. She would force herself to take better care of her body.

"Are you alright, sister?", Falin suddenly asked worried.

"I am, muindor. Do not worry about me." Eyaenne walked calmly by his side, lost in thought.

"Just how bad are Daeros and Arahen?", she asked.

* * *

"You have to eat", Thranduil's distant voice sounded through the empty room. His mind silently screamed in agony as he looked around. They were in Alcanor's empty room. The dark blue comforter still lay on the wide bed, a tunic lay abandoned in a corner and writing material was spread on the nightstand. Two elves were kneeling next to each other on the wooden floor, both dressed in nothing but a long white shirt akin to a wide-cut dress. Had Thranduil not been certain he had not touched a single drop of wine he would have sworn he was seeing double for even he could not tell which of his sons was who. Arahen and Daeros had always looked a lot like each other, even though their personalities were very different.

"You need to eat", Thranduil repeated seemingly disinterested as his sons once again ignored his words.

Again, only silence answered his inner plea. Wordlessly, Thranduil sank to his knees beside his children. Two silver blue pairs of eyes were fixed on an invisible point. The silver orbs were swimming in a pool of liquid sadness as tears threatened to take the brothers. Resigning, Thranduil took the bowl of porridge and carefully put a bit of food on the spoon. Then he put his hand firmly around his son's mouth and forced him to open up as gentle as he could, before feeding the elfling. The elf – oh it hurt Thranduil to not even be able to tell whether it was Daeros or Arahen – let everything happen without a sound. After Thranduil had fed both his children and placed warm blankets around their shoulders, he left the room.

He strode directly to his private study. The first thing he did was pull out a drawer and take out a beautiful penknife his wife had gifted him to Alcanor's birth.

"I love you, Alcanor", Thranduil murmured and pulled the sleeve of his left arm up. He quickly drew the sharp blade over the porcelain skin, leaving three angry red cuts bleeding heavily. He sighed as the pain in his heart quietened slightly as he welcomed the physical pain. He slumped down, sitting on the floor leaning against his heavy desk. It had nearly torn his heart to see Arahen and Daeros sitting in Alcanor's room like that, to see them and only see the empty shells they had become.

"I am sorry, Alcanor." He had done it again. After he had sworn to himself to never harm himself in his children's memory again. He had sworn by Legolas to never do it again.

"I am sorry, Legolas", he added and threw the penknife across the room. It smashed an artistic sculpture and with it Thranduil felt his heart breaking once again. Iarith had made that sculpture for him. He began sobbing as he thought of his precious little baby girl.

"I am sorry, Iarith", he sobbed. "I love you, my little princess."

Staring down at his bleeding arm he knew he could not hold on. He was too weak to go on like this. He was too weak. He had tried. He had given his hardest. However, he could not go on. He was nothing but a shard of glass pretending to be a mirror.

"I am sorry, Luineth", he apologized to his late wife.

Forcefully, he forced himself on his feet. He drew out some parchment. His hand was shaking as he filled the quill with black ink. He only wrote three sentences on the paper: _I am sorry, Falin. I am sorry, Eyaenne. I love you both._ He signed the short letter with the name his children called him: _Ada._

Pressing his ring into the hot wax, he left this last letter openly visible on his desk, addressing it to his two missing children.

Then he rose, his steps hesitant as he walked back to Alcanor's room. He stood in the frame for several minutes, unable to tear his eyes from his two sons who were still kneeling on the floor. Mourning their lost sibling. His first born son. Alcanor. Who had just been about to marry. The king had almost forgotten about Roewen. He would have to speak with her as well, before … well, before.

Thranduil would only say good-bye, before he ended it. He would only watch them for one last hour, before he went to the other side of the veil. They would follow him soon after. The knowledge threatened again to take his icy composure. He still looked untouched and disinterested, he knew that. He hated himself for it.

Slowly, he walked into the room. He bowed down to kiss the long blond hair.

"I love you, ion-nin. More than anything", he whispered, before walking to the other. Again he rose his hand to place it against the pale cheek and again he bowed down and kissed his son's hair. Before he could repeat his last statement of love, he was startled as someone spoke up.

"What have you done, Ada?", a sad voice asked. Thranduil's eyes widened as he suddenly turned his head to his son. It was Arahen, he recognized now. He followed Arahen's gaze and realised that he had not rolled his left sleeve back down. The blood had run over his skin, drawing beautiful red lines on the white flesh.

"Oh Ada, what have you done?", another sad voice sounded as well and Thranduil's head turned again to now meet Daeros gaze. His hand still lay against Daeros' cheek as the elf reached up to draw the arm away.

"Guards!", Arahen called, his voice rough with misuse and tears.

"Don't leave us, Ada. Not you too!" Arahen turned back to the king. His hands were holding the bloodied arm still so Thranduil could not pull it back without force.

A moment later the door was yanked open and guards rushed into the room. None of them had drawn their weapons. They saw the blood on their king's arm within seconds, saw the many cuts in different states of healing on his forearm. They stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes wide with fear and shock.

"Hir-nin?", one of them managed. _My king_.

Thranduil ignored them. He was busy drinking in the sight of Daeros' aware eyes which were now filled with a deep worry and the fear of being left alone. Last time he had seen this fear Daeros had been a small child and to see it in the grown elf made him stop and wonder. Could he save his children? In the last few weeks he had tried so hard and had failed time and time again. And now, that he had already given up, he saw a spark of life in his precious children. A spark he could impossibly extinguish by taking his own life as he had planned. He sighed. Death would have to wait once more.

* * *

Legolas swayed unsteadily on his feet. He would not make it. He knew he would not. Both hands pressed heavily down onto the bleeding wound in his stomach, he staggered forward. His blue eyes were fixed on the distant mountains. He would not make it. He was too weak. Only pure stubbornness kept him on his feet. The stubbornness he had inherited from his father kept him dragging his broken body meter for meter, all the way knowing it was pointless. He could hear the trees shouting at him, but he blocked them out. Holding his inner light in became harder and harder the longer he did it.

Legolas stumbled, groaning in pain as he hit the floor. He gritted his teeth and stood up once more.

"Penneth!" The harsh shout caused Legolas to swiftly turn around. He snarled as he saw the twins riding towards him. He recognized Elladan, who seemed angrier than worried.

"Leave me be!", he snarled with as much conviction as he was capable of.

"Penneth!", Elrohir tried gently. The younger twin dismounted, his hand slightly risen as if Legolas was a wild animal he had to calm down. "You are bleeding, Penneth. We only wish to help you."

"Help me!", Legolas cried with pain in his voice. "Since than have the Noldor ever helped one of us? You do not understand; you will never understand! I cannot stay! I must return! I must! You deserved those scars etched into your flesh, Lord Elrohir. You deserved them and so much more! Crown Prince Alcanor should never have been stopped to do what he intended! You deserved them!"

Elrohir took one step back, his hand unconsciously reaching for the ragged scars under his shirt. The wood elf's seemingly passionate words touched a soft spot.

Elladan huffed slightly, even though realising how much the wood elf had harmed himself with his escape, the twin became much more serious. Also, he realised that Penneth spoke his words in desperation more than anything else, as if he attempted to keep them away, to make them get angry and show the ugly faces the elfling believed they had.

"Listen, Penneth", Elladan interfered. "I know you don't trust us and we might not have given you a reason to trust us. But why can't you realise that you either take the risk and return to Imladris with us, or you will die! Do you understand, elfling? You will die! You will not help anyone if that happens. You will never again see your tree-loving family that way. Do you truly want to do that to them? Will you drive yourself into death because you do not trust us? Glorfindel calls you his gwador! And what did you do in return? You knocked him unconscious than all he was trying to do was to keep you alive. Are you so ungrateful, you silly wood elf? Do you fear us so much? Have we mistreated you in any way? We do not intend to hold you prisoner, Penneth! We want to heal you and help you get back to this dark forest of yours."

By now Legolas cried heavy tears. He burried his face in his hands. These last few weeks had been too much. He did not know where he could turn. Nothing here seemed familiar.

"I did not want to", was all he managed to say.

"What did you not want to do?", Elrohir asked gently.

"Harm Glorfindel. I swear, it was never my intention to do so."

"Why don't you tell him that yourself, little elfling?", Elladan asked. "When we are back at Imladris, you can tell him yourself."

Legolas looked at the twins once more. He bit his lip with indecision. The strain on his body grew with every passing second. Tiredly, Legolas decided there was nothing he could do. They were right. Either he trusted them or he died. He had already realised he would never make it to Mirkwood on his own. He was already dying as it was. He had held onto his path so stubbornly, he had not realised he never had a chance. Resigning, Legolas sighed and for the first time lowered the barriers which kept his inner light turned inside, instead of letting it shine outwardly. Suddenly, the trees' voices sounded louder and Legolas cringed at the sudden volume that hit his ears.

"Be quiet, please", he begged.

"We did not say anything", Elladan answered confusedly.

"Not you", Legolas returned. "The trees."

For one more moment the youngest prince of Mirkwood remained standing before his legs suddenly gave way. He looked up at the twins from where he now sat. His brow furrowed.

"You are filled with sadness, Lord Elrohir", he said after a long pause. "However, your brother is filled with rage. You are the night craving for light and hope to fill your heart, while your brother loses himself in self-loathing unwilling to see the stars shining brightly." The ancient and wise words entered his mind without him thinking them. He did not know where these words came from, but he knew them to be true.

"I trust you, Elrondion. And I beg the Valar my trust is not misplaced. My life is in your hands now. All of Mirkwood is."

The next moment, everything turned black around him as exhaustion carried Legolas into unconsciousness.

* * *

Elrohir stared at the slumped body before him. The uneven blond hair was sprawled on the dark ground and made the elfling look even younger than he was. While Elladan hurried to Penneth's side and rolled him on his back to push his shirt up to see the still bleeding wound, Elrohir just stood there. The words the elfling had spoken rang loudly in his head.

_You are filled with sadness, Lord Elrohir. You are the night craving for light and hope to fill your heart._ That was what Penneth had said about him. The words seemed … oddly familiar. As if he had heard them before. Elrohir looked harder at the youthful face.

And suddenly his eyes widened in understanding.

* * *

**Thanks to my beta Jaxzan Proditur!**

**Please review!**

**Guest#1:** Cliffies usually happen without me trying to make them happen. Except this one. That one was on purpose :)

**Guest#2:** I try to

**Guest1345:** Sorry, sometimes it takes a bit longer :/ I try to write as quick as I can, but usually it just takes a while to come up with soemthing good

**Megan:** Eyaenne is still in Mirkwood, she cannot come all the way within a few hours, even though I do like your idea :) However, all you guys seem keen on havingone of the Royal Siblings find Legolas or have Thranduil march on RIvendell :D But you willjust have to wait and see what happens


	29. 29: Little Leaf

"Elrohir!" Elladan snapped.

The younger twin flinched and turned to his brother.

"Are you going to let him bleed to death? Help me, for Valar's sake!" Elladan demanded harshly, not understanding why the younger twin just stood there.

Elrohir pulled himself together and kneeled down next to Elrohir.

"Can we move him?" he asked, his voice slightly unsteady.

"I would prefer to use a stretcher and to have our horses carry the stretcher. We are not that far away from Imladris and the terrain will allow us to do so", Elladan answered.

"What is wrong, Elrohir?", the older twin added.

"Nothing," Elrohir replied softly.

Within only a few minutes Elladan and Elrohir had built an improvised stretcher and laid the elfling onto it. Now they made their way back to Imladris. Násfaloth, Glorfindel's proud and loyal steed, kept close to them and it almost seemed as if the horse was keeping an eye on the wood elf.

Meanwhile, Elrohir could not help but stare at the elfling.

Glorfindel, Lady Celebrian and Lord Elrond were already waiting in the courtyard when the twins arrived. Glorfindel's left temple was marred with a dark purple swelling.

"How is he?" Glorfindel was the first to ask, absentmindedly petting Násfaloth's neck and brushing the dried blood out of the white fur as much as it was possible without taking his eyes off Penneth.

"The idiot nearly killed himself!" Elladan cursed with worry. Elrond immediately had the elfling carried back into the healing ward. Glorfindel wanted to follow, but Elrohir grasped his arm.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I know who he is," Elrohir answered. This caught Glorfindel's attention. Slowly, the balrog-slayer turned.

"Who is he?"

Elrohir sighed deeply, before he spoke.

"Penneth is Tithenlas."

* * *

"Who's there?" The voice of one of Mirkwood's soldiers rang loudly through the still air.

Eyaenne had no desire to play this little game. Her patience had never been very high and with the burden she now carried it was lower than ever before.

"Your bloody princess, you dunderhead!" She shouted loud enough to disturb the birds in the high branches. She climbed the tree without effort and stormed over the wooden platforms. Falin followed her slower and nodded to the elves his sister so rudely pushed out of her way. The warriors stared at them with wide eyes at first, surprised and awed. Then they quickly bowed their heads.

"I am in command now!" Eyaenne declared, already walking to the edge of the platform in order to stare into the forest in front of her. She folded her arms across her chest as she stared down into the lush green. Slowly, the crease between her eyebrows eased and instead a contemplating look spread over her fair features. Her heart was too broken to see the beauty before her and yet, as she watched the trees for the first time in weeks and opened herself up to it, they soothed her aches and calmed her spirit. She sighed deeply.

How long would it be until Orc-Alcanor attacked? Eyaenne wondered.

"It is scary, is it not?" Falin asked beside her. Eyaenne nodded without looking at him. She had felt his presence.

"This used to be our home. And now it could very well be the death of all of us. If Alcanor …"

"Stop, Falin. Please stop. I cannot endure talking about it," Eyaenne spoke softly.

"But we have to talk about it, Eyaenne. If we keep the pain inside, we will only harm ourselves further. We cannot hide behind it. I feel myself fading and I can feel you fading too. What do you think will happen if we allow us to fade? What will happen if just one more of us is gone? All that is holding us here is a single thread, so close to ripping. If one of us fade, all of us will. And where will that leave Mirkwood. We have sworn to protect this Realm, have sworn it with our blood and souls. We have paid heavy prices to keep this place safe. Legolas has given his life to keep this place safe, Alcanor has put himself in harm's way over and over again to keep this place safe. Iarith has attempted to keep this place safe. If we give up, their sacrifices will have been in vain. I will not allow this to happen, Eyaenne, which is why all of us have to survive."

"I do not want to hear it, Falin!" Eyaenne replied sharply. She was angry now.

"Do you think I do not know all these things myself? I have thought about it over and over and over again. I cannot keep going with this burden on my shoulders. Do not attempt to force me to do anything, for you know I will not allow it. If I live, I have to live on my own and not because you are keeping me upright. You know that as well as I do, so simply shut up, will you?"

With that she stomped away. Falin hesitated and then remained where he was, sighing slightly as he looked into the green canopy. He had not intended to make Eyaenne angry or uncomfortable.

"My prince?" someone asked from his side.

"Yes?"

"May I ask why you are here? Not, that we are not delighted to see you, however, we would have expected …" the elf stopped slowly.

"You would not have expected any of us out of the castle," Falin finished his sentence.

"You have heard what happened to Crown Prince Alcanor?" he then asked.

"We have, caun-nin. We were deeply shocked to hear what happened." _My prince._

"We think Orc-Alcanor will attack here. We are to take him captive. Talk to your warriors. I do not want him killed. Alcanor's fea may still be trapped inside his body. If it is possible to capture him without having to lay down your own lives, do so, otherwise, let him escape. Just … try not to kill him."

"Is there a chance he can return to his former self?" The brown haired warrior asked with wide eyes and hope in his voice.

Falin smiled sadly. He had wondered that as well. Mithrandir had talked about having hope, however he dared not to have hope.

"I am afraid not," he therefore answered, ignoring the whispers in his heart.

The warrior hesitated one moment before he left Falin's side. The young prince remained alone, a slim figure in the mass of green leaves. He prepared himself for a long and anxious wait. Sooner or later orc-Alcanor would attack.

* * *

"You are kidding me," Glorfindel managed after a few short moments of shock. Elladan only severely shook his head.

"He said something to me. Strange words. Words I had heard before. Tithenlas spoke them to me the day we met in Greenwood. You remember those ancient and wise words he sometimes uttered? I could never get them out of my head as they touched me in some way. And today, Penneth repeated those exact words to me. And then, just look at him, Glorfindel. It is him. Penneth is Tithenlas!"

Glorfindel needed several seconds to understand the entire meaning of Elladan's words. Penneth was Tithenlas. The little elfling who had saved their lives when they were in Mirkwood. The little elfling who had spoken the heavy words of wisdom well beyond his years. The little elfling who had been so interested in Glorfindel's story about the balrog. The elfling who had saved his life and those of the other Noldor. It all made sense now. Penneth was Tithenlas. Penneth was the son of Crown Prince Alcanor of Mirkwood. Penneth, who had grown up hearing the worst of the Noldor, who had grown up with his own father bearing the scars of a fortunately unsuccessful assassination attempt. No wonder he had been unwilling to give them his real name: Penneth was Tithenlas! Penneth was an Alcanorion. Penneth was a prince of Mirkwood. Penneth was Tithenlas!

"Oh my …" Glorfindel managed to say, suddenly feeling a bit light headed. Without thinking about it he placed his hand over the bandages across his chest. Was that why the scars had reopened? Because he had hit the son of the elf who had carved them into his skin in the first place? Tithenlas' haste to return to Mirkwood suddenly made sense, his fear to be held prisoner. He definitely was in a position to be an important hostage had the Noldor ever been so cruel as to take hostages to get their way. It explained everything. Penneth's close connection to the trees, his desire to return home.

Glorfindel pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose, thinking. What were they supposed to do now? They had to send a message to Mirkwood, saying the youngest prince was still alive and would – hopefully – stay alive unless he managed to harm himself once again. How could they possibly convey this message without getting themselves in the line of the ire of the Mirkwoodian people? How could they convey this message so no one would think the worst and assume they wanted to keep Tithenlas prisoner before they even had the chance to explain it was all a misunderstanding? Did Alcanor think his son dead? Did the Royal Family believe their youngest prince and second in the line of heir of the throne was dead? What chaos wrecked Mirkwood at this very moment?

* * *

His dreams were dark. He found himself back in Mirkwood, the dark forest closing in on him. The dark trees whispered threats and his breath stood in white mist before his mouth.

"Why did you kill us?" someone asked. Legolas whirled around only to be confronted with his patrol. They stood behind Eriandras, who stared at Legolas with wide accusing eyes.

"We trusted you, Legolas. Why did you kill us? Why did all of us have to day so you could live? Why? Legolas, why!" While the elf chanted he came closer and closer and Legolas felt the fear gripping for his heart.

"I did not mean to!" Legolas yelled, but the dead elves only continued with their accusations. "I am sorry! I swear, I am so sorry!" Legolas screamed, kneeling down and hiding his head in his arms.

"You killed us! You killed us! It is your fault! You killed us!"

"Nooo!" Legolas screamed and shot up right. Someone grasped his arms and Legolas struggled against the hold.

"No! I am sorry, I am so sorry!", he yelled.

"Shhh! Calm down, Penneth! It was a dream, just a dream. You are safe now, calm down!" Someone said seriously while struggling to maintain a grip of Legolas' flailing limbs.

"No, no, let me go!" Legolas thought against the restrains, his mind screaming 'murderer' at him over and over again.

"Penneth, calm down. Listen to my breathing once again, alright? You did it before, just do it again. Breathe! Everything is alright. You are save here. Everything will be fine eventually, just calm down."

Legolas recognized the voice. It was the balrog slayer who struggled to keep him still.

"Gwador?" Legolas rasped, his blue eyes wide with the lasting horrors of his dream.

"Yes, gwador," Glorfindel confirmed gently. However, he was still surprised than Legolas suddenly clung to him, hiding the tears and the harsh breathing against his chest.

"Do not leave me alone," Legolas asked, afraid of the nightmares returning even as he felt himself dropping into an exhausted sleep once again. "Do not leave me, please gwador, do not leave."

Legolas pulled the blond elf to sit next to him on the bed and Glorfindel complied with surprise. Resting his long legs on the bed and leaning against the headboard, he allowed the young elfling to lean against his side, the scared expression of his face hidden in the darkness of the night.

"Go to sleep, Penneth. I will stay," Glorfindel said hesitantly, still not fully sure why the elfling suddenly seemed to trust him once more.

* * *

Elrond walked into the healing wing early in the morning. He stopped as he saw Glorfindel sitting on Penneth's bed, his eyes glazed over in elvish sleep. The young warrior rested his head on Glorfindel's chest and his eyes were still closed.

Elrond chuckled. The elfling had managed to wrap Glorfindel around his little finger in no time. Glorfindel had told him that Penneth reminded him of Feawion who had been a childhood friend of Glorfindel's and who had died at the fall of Gondolin. Maybe that was why Glorfindel had the urge to protect Penneth. He had had no chance to save Feawion but he did have to power to help Penneth.

The lord of Rivendell walked over and woke Glorfindel. The glazed over eyes focused.

"Good morning," Elrond greeted quietly so as to not wake Penneth.

"Morning," Glorfindel groaned back in reply and pulled a face as his neck protested loudly.

"May I ask what brought this one?" Elrond gestured over Penneth.

"Nightmare. Seemed to be pretty awful," Glorfindel explained and carefully extracted himself from the sleeping elfling.

"I should not have fallen asleep," the balrog slayer groaned upon standing up and stretching.

"You think he will start to trust us a bit more from now on?" Elrond asked with furrowed brow.

"He better be! I just slept the entire night here, least he could do is starting to trust us a bit," Glorfindel complained but did not seem all too serious.

"Has Elrohir spoken to you already?" Elrond asked and nodded towards Penneth.

"Tithenlas," Glorfindel confirmed.

"Any idea how and if we should approach the subject?"

"Let us talk outside."

Elrond followed Glorfindel outside and left a sleeping warrior behind.

* * *

Legolas woke slowly. However, this time he was glad to realise he barely felt any pain.

"Penneth?" A careful voice asked. Legolas turned his head and blinked several times, until he recognized Lord Elrond. The elf lord seemed worried and was standing several paces away, as if he did not wish to frighten him. Legolas remembered his foolish and painful escape. He had declared he trusted the Noldor. Still, he felt a tingle of fear rush through him.

"I mean you no harm," the elf lord said gently.

"How much damage did I do?" Legolas forced himself to ask and therefore admit his mistakes. He could not suppress a slight shivering of his voice as the fear would not leave him completely, no matter how hard he tried to force it back.

"The stitches broke open and you lost a lot of blood," Elrond calmly answered, moving slowly as he sat down on a neighbouring bed. "I hope you will not undo my work once again and stay in bed this time."

"I will try to," Legolas said. He looked around but found the healing ward empty besides the two of them.

"If you wish I can go get Glorfindel for you?" Elrond offered. "You seemed to get along with him rather well."

Legolas flushed, remembering how he knocked the elf lord unconscious. And how he had sobbed all over the balrog slayer last night.

"How angry is he?" Legolas asked. "I did not cause severe harm, did I?"

"Worry not, dear child. He isn't angry at you. A bit put out, admittedly, but he was more worried than anything else. Do you want me to get him for you?"

Legolas nodded after some hesitation. He did not know if he could face Glorfindel right now, but he did know he didn't wish to be alone with any of the other Noldor either. Lord Elrond nodded, stood and made to leave the room.

"Thank you," Legolas called after him. The elf stopped, his head tilted sideways, but not turning around to look at him, as he replied:

"You are welcome, child." With that he left.

Only a few minutes later he returned with Lord Glorfindel and the twins in his wake. Legolas felt his heart staring to beat faster and he tried to sit up, only to wince and stop moving again. He avoided the eyes of the new arrivals. He did not wish to see the anger in Elladan's eyes nor did he wish to find out how Glorfindel looked at him.

"Hello, gwador," Glorfindel's voice rang after a few minutes of silence. Shyly, Legolas looked up. The older elves had all pulled chairs to stand around his bed and were watching him intently. The wood elf was not too happy with the attention directed his way.

"Hello," Legolas replied. "I am sorry, Glorfindel!" He looked up and he really felt sorry. Glorfindel had a rather colourful laceration at the side of his head, but he only smiled and waved Legolas' apology away.

"It is all right. I guess I cannot fault you, even though I hope you finally have come to your senses?"

Legolas shrugged. He watched as Lord Elrond stood and took a pitcher of water from a table to fill a glass.

"Drink," the healer ordered and offered the glass to Legolas, making sure to stand as far away as possible. Hesitantly, Legolas did as he was told. He muttered a 'thank you' under his breath.

"How are you feeling?" Elrohir spoke up.

"I am in no pain," Legolas replied. "Well, unless I move." The twins smiled at that.

"Penneth," Glorfindel began. "We mean you no harm, you have to understand that. We will allow you to return to Mirkwood as soon as you are well enough to actually do so."

Legolas nodded, feeling Glorfindel was going to say something important next.

"We know who you are, Penneth," Glorfindel smiled gently. "And I swear we mean you now harm."

Legolas eyes narrowed. He put the glass away as he stared at the balrog slayer.

"You … know who I am?", he questioned dangerously.

"You are Tithenlas."

Legolas flinched at the nickname his family had given him. His eyes widened slightly, before he got a grip on himself.

"You saved our lives back then. In Mirkwood. Without your testimony, Crown Prince Alcanor would have probably killed us all. We owe you. And we plan to repay you, by helping you to get home, prince of Mirkwood. Alcanor is your father. We will not keep your from him or try to blackmail –"

Legolas brows furrowed. Alcanor was what? What?! That was ridiculous! Without meaning to, Legolas broke into musical laughter. It turned it coughing soon after, but the mirth stayed in his blue eyes. He was Alcanor's son? Well, the Noldor got that wrong. It amused him to no end to see their perplexed faces. But that also meant, they had no idea that Prince Legolas of Mirkwood even existed. That made everything a lot easier, he supposed. He could be Tithenlas without being anything else but one of many wood elf soldiers.

"Crown Prince Alcanor is not my father," Legolas chuckled softly.

"But I thought …," Elrohir started.

"Oh, I _am_ tithen-las, but I am most definitely not the son of Prince Alcanor. Prince Alcanor has no children as of yet. I do not know what gave you the impression that he was my father, but I assure you, it was nothing but a misunderstanding on your part."

"So, why were you there?" Glorfindel asked confused.

"I grew up in the castle and always had much contact to the children of King Thranduil. Did you know Prince Arahen was a teacher before he was forced to take up arms to defend our country? Prince Falin as well, even though his students were older. The outpost you were brought to was not a military stronghold. More of a training camp. Prince Alcanor is actually a healer. I think he was originally even keen to come to Imladris, as I understand. No doubt to learn from you, Lord Elrond," Legolas nodded towards the elven lord, feeling a lot lighter all of the sudden. Not a single word of what he just said was a lie either and it felt surprisingly good to tell some true words. "Prince Daeros makes the best maps I have ever seen and Princess Eyaenne originally trained wild horses, before taking up arms. The war has changed all of our fates. I myself never thought about what I wanted to do, as it was always clear I had to take up arms as well. However, I assure you, I am not the son of Prince Alcanor. King Thranduil has no grandchildren."

"I apologize for jumping to conclusions," Glorfindel said and bowed his head.

The twins exchanged a glance and it seemed they were communicating silently.

"May I ask," Elrohir began and leaned forward. "Why you saved me? And the rest of us?"

Legolas looked at the twin with a contemplating expression. He hesitated. In Mirkwood it was widely known that he had a closer connection to the world around him. All of his family had. Alcanor could sometimes hear what people thought. As a young warrior Alcanor had not even been able to differ between a thought and spoken word as for him it had sounded the same.

"I just knew," Legolas said slowly, weighing his words. He flushed as he saw the calculating stares Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel were throwing him.

"What did you know?" Elladan asked calmly.

"I knew he was innocent. I knew he had not killed my …" Legolas had to forcefully stop himself from saying 'sister'. He swallowed and continued on. "… my princess."

"Why could you feel his innocence back then and today you are so afraid of us?" Lord Elrond asked, his voice serious and gentle and not mocking at all.

Legolas could not suppress a slight flinch. He shrugged uncomfortably.

"I do not know," he answered truthfully. For himself, he wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he had held his fea in for the last few weeks. Closing his eyes, he focused and the Noldor. It took some time but eventually, he saw them before his inner eyes, a fuzzy, coloured sphere of light. Probing carefully, Legolas got the distinct feeling that yes, they did not mean any harm. Unconsciously, he relaxed. The feeling was not nearly as strong and easy to catch as it was when he was in Mirkwood though. Did the unfamiliar surrounding diminish his attunement? Maybe. The trees in Mirkwood were his friends and powerful in their own right. They too felt the complex net of their surroundings, probably helping him to attune to the people around him.

"Ease there!" Lord Elrond's voice invaded his thoughts. His eyes snapped open and he realised he had begun shaking violently. Instantly, he stopped trying to feel the Noldor's intention. He had seen enough for now. He would have to trust them at least partially. Legolas felt himself drifting into sleep. He felt how someone carefully lowered him back into bed after taking a pillow away.

"Thank you, Tithenlas," he heard Glorfindel's voice ring through the sleepy mist. "I will make sure you will be able to return home, I swear. Sleep well, penneth."

* * *

**So things are looking up a bit. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was running late so this is not betaed so far, as I just finished writing like 2 minutes ago. Also, to give you some warning: I got exam time coming up. I got 5 exams between now and the first of August, so there most likely won't be an update until after that!**

**Please review!**

**A big thanks to my betas Jaxzan Proditor and Swallow-tailed Kite**

**Guest#1: **Thx! :)

**Guest#2: **This one is not a cliffy! Hope you enjoy this one and don't get annoyed with me for all these cliffies :D xD

**Megan: **Thank you, I do have fun writing it but sometimes my motivation gets lost and I have to find it first. It is very good in playing hide and seek and I am not too well in seeking :D Glad to hear you will stick with the story and continue reviewing as well!** (Am I spoiled if I am disappointed in receiving only about ten reviews? I used to get 20+ for some time and now 10 seems sad as I know heaps of people are reading it without leaving a review, Wel, a big thanks to those of you who do. You are the people I write for!)**


	30. 30: At Ravenstone Outpost

"Eyaenne!" Falin screamed over the sound of the raging battle around them. The screeching of hundreds of orcs pained his ears. His blade was black with the blood of the creatures who had fallen beneath it. His hip-long silver hair was whipping through the air, catching the light as he attempted to fight his way through.

Eyaenne twirled around, looking to where Falin was pointing towards. And then she saw him. Orc-Alcanor was on the ground, less than a hundred paces away. His eyes shone with an unnatural red light, the sneer and hatred on his features twisted Eyaenne's heart. She froze. Could not do anything but stare at the tall, straight figure as Alcanor strode through the ranks of orcs, yelling crude orders in the dark tongue. An arrow swished through the air, but Alcanor blocked it as if the skill was as easily obtained as the skill to breath air.

Someone grabbed her and pulled her down and an orc scimitar only narrowly missed her. Shocked, Eyaenne found the leader of Ravenstone Outpost crouching next to her, only a bow in hand. For one moment their eyes met and Eyaenne could read worry in his orbs. She quickly stood up, once more focusing on the battle around her. She should not have allowed the orc to distract her that much. She could have been killed, had this elf not saved her life. The leader shot arrows in quick succession while he kept close to her.

"Thanks!" Eyaenne yelled after beheading an orc. Again she searched for Alcanor's bright silver-blond hair, finding it quickly in the mass of dark bodies. This time she did not allow herself to lose focus of her surroundings though. She watched in horror how orc-Alcanor drove his sword into an elf. The elf's light, clearly visible under the dark foliage, snatched out like a candle in the wind. Orc-Alcanor freed his blade from the body, stepping on it to have a slightly better overview.

Eyaenne felt herself sickening up. She knew that was not Alcanor. However, seeing that … Alcanor would never have killed an elf. Not as if it was a negligibility. Alcanor was truly gone. She felt a last smidgeon of hope she had not known existed die out in her heart. He was gone. That was not her brother anymore.

"We have to get over!" She yelled towards the elf next to her.

"I am slightly busy right now!" He yelled back and Eyaenne barked out a laugh.

"Well, whenever is convenient for you," she mocked while dodging another scimitar, ducking underneath the massive arm and slicing the orc's throat from behind. She turned, dropped to the ground and sliced through calf muscles, jumped back to her feet and killed another two orcs with one movement.

"Now!" The elf beside her yelled and she reached to grasp the long cloak of the archer. Together they moved towards the place where orc-Alcanor was battling several elves at once. Falin had entered the fray and had troubles holding his own. The prince fell to the ground as he could not parry a powerful attack. Immediately, the other elves attacked orc-Alcanor with more ferocity, driving him slightly back as to give Falin time to get back on his feet. Eyaenne could hear Falin yelling, begging Alcanor to fight the darkness inside him, begging him to come back. Falin neither had fully given up on the elf turned orc, Eyaenne realised.

Moving with the unknown elf – she would definitely have to ask for his name if they survived in order to properly thank him – they got closer and closer to the centre of the heated battle. The elf shot orcs down as they got into their way and Eyaenne held his back, always making sure she knew exactly where he was by not letting go of the cloak.

Orc-Alcanor and his band of three hundred orcs had attacked immediately after the sun had set. Falin had been right all along and Eyaenne was glad her brother had taken the responsibility to instruct the elves of the outpost. He had helped making more arrows and digging traps into the soft ground. All while Eyaenne herself had been sitting in the trees thinking.

An orc got through Eyaenne's tight net of defensive slashes. Having lost his weapon together with his left hand to her fiery blade, the orc screeched and bit Eyaenne in the arm. The she-elf warrior screamed in pain as long, curved teeth penetrated the leather and sank deeply into her arm. Blood gushed forth, mixed with orc-spit. Eyaenne pulled, trying to get her arm free, using her empty hand to try and push the creature away but all she managed was to cause herself more pain. Wicked, yellow eyes stared at her from a disgustingly close distance, hate and glee mixed with bloodlust.

It was her new found protector who freed her, beheading the orc in one smooth gesture, forcing the jaw open and dropping the bodiless head on the ground. Afterwards, he immediately whirled around and send several arrows. Meanwhile, Eyaenne pulled her injured arm closer to herself, changing her sword to her weaker, left hand.

"Let me guess: You are too stubborn to return into the trees?" The leader of Ravenstone Outpost said to her in an irritated voice, still entirely focused on the oncoming orcs.

"I am my father's daughter," was all Eyaenne replied to this, countering an old axe and ramming her sword into the solid body behind it.

"I knew it," the other elf muttered and rolled his eyes. "All of you are as stubborn as they come. Keep this close!" He turned to her and swiftly returned her dagger to the sheath at her hip. He had used her weapon to kill the orc who had bitten into her arm.

"Let's get this over and done with, shall we?" he asked and shot two arrows simultaneously, clearing the way towards the place where orc-Alcanor fought against Falin and three others. Four dead elves already lay at his feet. Eyaenne felt rage coming over her. How dare this orc dishonour her brother's name by using his body to slay elves? How dare the darkness go so far?

"Do your worst," the elf by her side said and turned. He dropped the quiver that had been on his back and started pulling arrows out of the spare quiver at his side. Eyaenne nodded and leapt forward, her right arm still pressed tightly against her side.

"Nice of you to show up," Falin yelled, obviously struggling to counter the powerful attacks focused on his person. Eyaenne could see his arm shaking in exhaustion. The next moment she knew why as she blocked a powerful thrust that nearly cost her balance. She stumbled two steps back, her arm tingling and feeling numb with the force of orc-Alcanor's attack.

Eyaenne stared in red eyes, determination growing inside her. She would take this orc down and take him back into the stronghold. Mithrandir would free Alcanor's soul and send him to rest.

Her lip pulled up in a vicious snarl, she ducked under a slice and attacked herself. Her movements were quick. Most of them were made without real power behind them, saving energy. Now and then she hid a strong thrust between the slices and shortly after, she managed to cut deeply in orc-Alcanor's shoulder. The orc stumbled back, his long silver white hair falling over his shoulders. Slowly, he looked up and pure bloodlust shone in his eyes.

She did not recall what happened next. She found herself lying on the ground, her head buzzing and her ears seemed to be filled with cotton wool and the world shifted around her.

She heard someone scream and threw her body to the side. Just in time, she realised as a dark blade drove into the thick layer of earth less than an inch beside her. Eyaenne stared up wide eyed. Orc-Alcanor was leaning down, hand on the hilt of the weapon, his eyes like red torches. For one moment their eyes met.

A flicker. The orc stilled. The fallen princess stared into a pair of glowing eyes. Another one. The red seemed to vanish for less than a second, turning the eyes silver again. Eyaenne tasted blood on her lips. Another flicker, longer. There was no mistake: For one second Alcanor's silver eyes met hers, widened with realisation. In the next moment red flooded the silver orbs once more like blood. The orc snarled and seized the weapon back. Dark earth crumps fell over Eyaenne and she rose her hand over her head in a pointless defence.

Suddenly, she was grabbed and forcefully pulled backwards. Again the elegant elven blade missed her body.

The leader of Ravenstone Outpost roughly pulled her to her feet, making use of her dazed state and shoved her towards the fortified outpost.

After stumbling two steps, Eyaenne found her balance. She whirled back around, seeing how orc-Alcanor sliced down another elven warrior. She would not allow this to continue. They would have to take orc-Alcanor prisoner before he could kill more of them. He was not invincible. Already, red blood soaked his sharp, dark brown leather uniform where Eyaenne had hit his shoulder. She dashed under the archer's arm who had saved her life a second time.

"Stubborn Thranduilliell!" She heard him mutter angrily as he followed her once again.

* * *

Please review!

Two exams down, three to go, the next update will be in two to three weeks. Unless I fail an exam, then it might take longer.

Guest1345: Here you see what happens in Mirkwood. I hope you enjoyed this scene, even though the chapter is pretty short. As for Legolas ... He will be in the next chapter

Guest: Thank you very much! I really hope you continue reviewing. I have no intention of doing something like 'if I do not get enough reviews I won't update' or something silly like that, but it is a fact that each and every single review motivates me to write more. So quite often, if I receive a lot of reviews I am motivated to write and manage to write an entire chapter in one go. So, please, keep them coming, it makes for a better story and more fun for me. I am happy you enjoy the conflict, it was one of the main reasons why I wanted to write this story

Megan: I will not give up on this story. I never could because that would be a waste of 100000+ words. I hope to finish it by the end of the year. Legolas is finally getting a bit better, that is true.

Rita Orca: Thanks! I am pretty sure I did quite well on one of my exams, not so sure about the other and very stressed out about my Organic Chemistry exam, so no further updates until after that. I am glad you liked the revelation, I loved the idea of Legolas starting to laugh then they say Alcanor is his father

Hooded Genius: Thanks for dropping a review and for your compliments. I understand you guys want longer or more frequent updates but I need time to make everything up and write it next to studying at uni and for my exams and everyday life, so I am afraid I won't be able to write more or more frequent. Also, I have my own book to write and already I am not spending as much time on it as I would like

Scathach47: Oh, I got some good plans coming up. I am pretty certain you are gonna like them

Sun: I am glad you like the story and the characters (especially the OCs). And trees are simply awesome, in this world as much as in Middle-Earth.


	31. 31: Lasting damage

A yell of triumph was heard between the trees. Orc-Alcanor was on the ground, having been brutally disarmed by Princess Eyaenne. Before the elf turned orc could jump back on his feet, the leader of Ravenstone Outpost threw himself down on the fallen figure, pressing it to the ground with his body.

"Bind him, quickly!" He yelled, struggling to keep the orc down. He flinched as he saw a rusty orc weapon from another orc come towards his head, but Eyaenne finally found herself able to return the favour and deflected the blade before swiftly killing the offender. Her breath was coming in short gasps, blood from a cut above her eyebrow was blurring her vision, her body hurt like hell and her right arm still felt numb but she ignored it all as she hurried to comply the order of her protector. Around them, the killing continued but with orc-Alcanor taken down, Falin and the rest of the elves were getting the upper hand despite their exhaustion.

Leaning over the outpost's leader, Eyaenne strongly hit against orc-Alcanor's head, thus rendering him unconscious.

Together they bound the orc, making sure the robes sat tightly and the knots could not be opened easily. Eyaenne finished the last knot while the archer next to her sat up, looking around.

"They are dead," Falin suddenly appeared at their side, his armour stained with dark blood and his long silver hair a mess.

"Hurry up and get that … _thing_ beyond the border," the Ravenstone leader ordered his prince and princess without second thought while he got up.

"Light torches, this place needs to be swamped by light. Take care of the wounded, collect the dead," he turned to the elves who had survived. "I want to be behind the border within the hour. No further elvish blood shall soak this earth."

The next hour was bringing them all to the brick of collapsing. Eyaenne's respect for her new friend grew with every passing minute and she stayed by his side and helped him carry the dead so they could be buried in peace. His eyes were hard and yet incredibly pained. After the battle field was cleared of elven bodies, they walked around one last time, stepping over orc corpses to make sure they had left no one behind. Falin joined them.

"You saved her," Falin turned to the archer and caused them to stop. Tears were shimmering in his eyes. In the next moment, he impulsively grabbed the leader of the outpost and kissed him hard on the lips before hugging him roughly.

"Thank you for saving my sister," he said with a trembling voice. "I could not have survived losing her as well." Falin pulled back before the elf could catch himself and looked into the slightly overwhelmed face.

"You should marry him, Eyae. He seems to be able to keep up with you," Falin turned to his sister.

Eyaenne crossed her arms.

"Falin, you cannot kiss him in front of me and then tell me to marry him. I do not share, is that clear," she said with slight amusement, taking this chance to not focus on the death around her, glad for the momentary reprieve.

The archer chuckled darkly, taking both Eyaenne and Falin by the elbow and leading them back to the barricades.

"What is your name anyway?" Eyaenne asked, not pulling out of the elf's grip.

"Methelion," the elf replied, taking the ladder and started climbing up.

Methelion did not allow himself any peace, instead he immediately began digging shallow graves just beyond the barricades. Eyaenne and Falin both joined him and by the time all the fallen elves' had found their rest, the light of a new day began creeping in. Just as Eyaenne's tired mind thought she could finally get some peace and quiet, ruckus started up again. Orc-Alcanor had woken and struggled against his bonds, yelling his lungs out in the crude language of the orcs.

* * *

Legolas cursed. It could not be! Please not! Pain shot through his arm as he attempted to lift it again. He could not move it higher than his ribcage. Tears shot into his eyes but no matter how hard he tried, he could not lift his arm.

"No. No. Nononono!" Legolas chanted, trying again and again. He could not lift his arm!

"No!" he yelled defeated, grabbing the plate by his nightstand and throwing it through the healing ward. The tears were now flowing freely: He could not move his arm. He could not use it! He would not be able to ever hold his bow again. He was a cripple! A warrior who could not lift his own sword!

He yelled in rage, feeling his throat getting sore even while he did. The door to the healing ward was pushed open but Legolas barely reacted. His entire world came crashing down around him. He was crippled. He was useless.

Hurt and angry, he cradled his right arm to his chest. His useless arm.

"Penneth!" Someone yelled. Legolas did not care. He did not see how Glorfindel and Lord Elrond exchanged worried, pained looks and how the twins stood there with wide eyes, watching his agony.

Someone took his shoulders and Legolas flinched violently, looking up to meet concerned, grey eyes which shone like starlight.

"I can't move my arm," Legolas rasped with wide eyes. Lord Elrond nodded gravely, leading the young warrior back to sit on the edge of his bed. Legolas watched as the healer carefully probed and prodded his arm from the wrist up to his shoulder.

"You should not have attempted to move it already, Penneth," Lord Elrond stated with a whisper as he found a patch of wet red blood on the fabric over his shoulder.

Legolas did not respond and his eyes held a silent begging as he looked up to the Noldor. Forgotten was his fear he had cultivated against the wise healer in the passing weeks.

"Please!" He whispered with a broken voice.

"There is nothing I can do at the moment, Penneth. I am sorry," Lord Elrond sighed. They had reverted to calling him Penneth after Legolas had asked them to. He had told them that tithen-las was nothing but an old nickname, used only by a few. He had not wanted them to call him by the same name only his family did even though he had been careful not to mention that part.

"If I cannot use my arm, I am nothing!" Legolas said with the tone of resignation.

"You are not nothing, Penneth!" Elrond replied seriously.

"Please take your shirt of. You tore some of your stitches." The healer prescinded from reprimanding the elfling for it.

Only now Legolas realised how much he hurt. His stomach wound had not appreciated the little movement he had forced his body to and his shoulder burned with fire. He winced as he fumbled to open his tunic. As he failed to do so with the layer of tears obscuring his vision, Lord Elrond gently took his hand and stilled it before he opened Legolas' shirt for him.

"I cannot move my arm," Legolas mumbled over and over under his breath while Lord Elrond replaced several of the stitches and redressed both wounds. When he was done, Legolas grabbed his wrist and looked him straight into the grey eyes.

"Is there nothing you can do?" He asked, his brows drawn together. Lord Elrond took a seat next to Legolas, not letting go of the young elf's hand.

"Your shoulder was severely damaged, Penneth," he began with a calming voice. "The bone was damaged and two important fibres were severed. The muscle was torn into pieces. I did all I could. There is a slim chance that some of the damage will heal over time and you will be able to move your arm again, but I will not lie at you: I think that is unlikely to happen. I could attempt a second surgery but …"

"Do it! If there is any … ANY chance you must do it! Please! What am I without my arm? Nothing but a cripple, a burden to my home. I am warrior, if I cannot move my arm I –"

"Penneth!" Lord Elrond stopped him, both hands gently resting on Legolas' shoulders. "Right now that is not even up for discussion. I won't be able to do anything until your arm is fully healed anyway. That will take several weeks. Your stomach wound is even worse and will take longer. Until your shoulder is healed I won't be able to know what and if I can do anything. If I operate you I could also make things worse. Once your shoulder is better, we will talk about this again."

Legolas wanted to protest but he didn't. Instead he sighed, raising his left, still functioning hand to wipe away the tears. The gesture was to no avail as they were quickly replaced with new ones. Legolas flinched as he was suddenly embraced. Lord Elrond had his arms wrapped around him and stroke his uneven blonde hair. This only made Legolas cry harder for it reminded him of his own father's embrace. And he could not even remember when Thranduil had last embraced him, or even just patted his arm in a comforting gesture. It should be his Ada who embraced him, not this strange foreign elven lord.

"Let go of me," Legolas whispered without much conviction behind his words.

"Even warriors sometimes fall, Penneth. It is alright to cry," was all Elrond replied to that and did not even make an indication to let go of him.

It was only after several minutes that Legolas found the strength to push the Noldor Lord away from him. He dried his tears, ashamed of his earlier breakdown.

"Forgive me," he asked and bowed his head.

Lord Elrond looked at him with a frown marring his forehead.

"You are welcome," he replied before he stood up.

"There is a feast to honour of Feawyn, the Lady of the Sea, next week. I would like to welcome you at my table, Penneth. We have many guests currently staying at Imladris and some will arrive to celebrate with us. You would honour us with your presence."

"But, my lord, I have no business at your table. Nor do I have anything to wear," was all Legolas could think of to reply.

Elrond smiled softly.

"Where else would you have business to sit? You are a gwador to Glorfindel and my patient to boot. I will have to keep an eye on you so that you do not over-exert yourself and you seem to learn how to handle the twins as well. As for your wardrobe: That shall be no problem. I am sure we will find something appropriate for you.

"I ask you to rest today. Do not get up, I doubt the wound in your stomach will heal anytime soon if you keep on doing that." With that Elrond and Glorfindel left.

* * *

"Is there nothing you can do?" Glorfindel just had to repeat the question even though he already knew the answer. Elrond sadly shook his head.

"There was too much damage. As I said, I could attempt another surgery, but I could end up making it worse."

"How long until he will be able to return home? Can you attempt the second surgery without prolonging his stay? I would not wish for him having to choose between the chance to regain function in his arm and returning home. He starts to trust us – Valar, I'd never have thought he'd allow you to embrace him like that, he must have been devastated – but I feel he wants to return home as soon as possible. He worries about his family."

"The blizzard has blocked the pass for the last two weeks. I think it will clear off within the next week, but the window of time when the High Pass can be crossed will only be open for a few days before the winter storms set in. He will not be healed enough to cross the mountains; he would not even reach them no matter how stubborn he is. Penneth will have to stay through the winter and return to Mirkwood in spring. If he follows my orders and doesn't keep ripping his stitches on the regular basis he seems to at the moment, I should be able to perform the second surgery, should he wish for me too. However, I am not even sure whether it'd be of any use. I won't perform it if there is no chance for him to get better."

"We have to send a message to Mirkwood. If the pass is open for even just a few days, we have to inform King Thranduil." Glorfindel seemed pensive.

"I cannot allow it, Glorfindel," Elrond replied sharply. The balrog slayer looked up, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Elrond, we have to inform Thranduil! Imagine if –"

"I agree, but that is not what I meant. I meant I cannot allow for you to go, Glorfindel."

"But I –"

"I know Penneth means a lot to you already, mellon. You see your old friend in him and you feel protective for him. And he needs you here. He does not trust me or anyone else enough. He might begin to see that we mean him no harm, but if you leave him alone to stay here over several months, he will snap. He barely feels comfortable around the rest of us. Sometimes, he reminds me of Thranduil: Always alert, as mistrustful as they come, the same irritating stubbornness and completely unwilling to depend on anyone or anything. Penneth does not need you to hold his hand and yet he needs you as an assurance. We will send someone else. You, however, cannot go."

Slowly, Glorfindel nodded.

"We should be careful about who we send though. I have no doubt Thranduil will hold our messenger until he has confirmation that Penneth is still alive and that we have not harmed him in any way. He has no reason why to trust us otherwise."

Elrond sighed and stopped walking.

"We should send Erestor," he suggested after a second of thought.

Lord Erestor was of his kin, a Peredhil like himself, though the blood relation was distant. The dark haired elf descended from a noble though not royal strain of the kin of Finwë. Glorfindel knew him from before the fall of Gondolin. They had been together as they'd escaped the destruction. Furthermore, Erestor was not only the chief counsellor of Elrond's household but he had served High King Turgon of Gondolin and after Turgon's death he had served High King Ereinion Gil-galad in Lindon. Only after Gil-galad's death in the Last Alliance had Erestor gravitated to the House of his kinsman Elrond Peredhil at Imladris.

"Erestor knows Thranduil and Thranduil will take him seriously. He always got along with Erestor better than with my own person. Furthermore, he is not only a skilled fighter but a talented diplomat as well. He might even be able to repair the relationship between our two Realms. And be it only for Penneth's sake."

"I see," Glorfindel said. He thought about the idea as they walked back to the library they had occupied before hearing Penneth's anger.

"I think it is a good idea. I'd trust Erestor with not only my life but anyone who is dear to me. He will be in less danger than anyone else we might send, myself included."

They left the building, walking outside into the gardens which seemed blank and lifeless at the moment.

"Elrond," Glorfindel began slowly. "I do not wish to undermine your expertise but why did you invite Penneth to the feast? He is too weak to even stand for longer than a few minutes, let alone walk unaided. Why do you wish to put him through the feast?"

"It was a rather spontaneous idea, I am afraid," Elrond admitted, welcoming the harsh cold wind that blew in his face. "You saw him just now. He is beating himself up over his injury. He won't be able to let it go easily, if I assess him correctly. Also, he does not seem like an elf who can go too long without something to do. Normally, I would never have invited him. You are correct, he is too weak. But I feel concerned about his mental state just as much as about his physical. This feast will give him something to anticipate, something to work for. It will stop him from giving up, from letting his injury get to him overly much. At least that is what I hope. To give him something else to think and worry about. It is a gamble, I admit. However, I do not know how to help him otherwise."

Glorfindel nodded.

"Let's hope he does not tear his damn stitches yet again," he joked forcedly.

"You will keep an eye on him during the feast," Elrond half ordered half asked and Glorfindel snorted.

"Of course I will. He is troublemaker."

* * *

The next day, there was a knock at the door to the healing wing. Legolas looked up. He was sitting close to the window, wrapped into a blanket and with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. The lime tree before the window had reached out to him and a twig was encircling Legolas' dangling foot as they communicated silently. Lord Elrond had allowed Legolas to sit there for some time each day. It helped the wood elf to feel less oppressed in the room that was so different compared to the architecture he was familiar with. Glorfindel and the twins came every day to take him outside for some time as well. The healer had insisted on a stretcher and grudgingly, Legolas had agreed. His stomach wound still hurt a lot and was a far cry from healed, so he could not stand for longer than a few minutes at the time and had to be very careful walking stairs. Looking back, he had not the slightest idea how he had even made it out of the Last Homely House that night when he had tried to escape. Legolas never talked much to anyone, afraid he might give something away. The Noldor had noticed his vague answers and taken to not ask too personal questions.

"Enter," Legolas said after a few seconds. Normally, everyone simply walked in. He set his cup of tea down as a strange elf entered the healing ward. He made to stand up feeling uneasy in the strange elf's presence.

"Please, rest," the elf stopped him and smiled slightly. His eyes were bright and told of many centuries of wisdom and knowledge. He seemed calm and yet powerful with the long black hair framing his narrow face.

Feeling the lime tree's assurances, Legolas relaxed slightly.

"We have not met as of yet, Penneth, but I have heard much about you," the elf began, slowly moving through the room.

"May I introduce myself: I am Erestor. I would like to talk to you for a minute if you feel up to it. If you do not, I shall return at a later point in time."

"Lord Erestor Peredhil of Gondolin!" Legolas recognized the name from his lessons in Mirkwood.

Erestor quirked an eyebrow.

"I must say I am surprised you know who I am," he admitted, the question ringing with his words without him having to ask.

"You fought at my king's side under High King Gil-galad in the War of the Last Alliance. I have heard about you in stories told by many Silvans."

Erestor nodded, obviously accepting the answer.

"May I take a seat?" He asked politely, gesturing to a chair.

"Please," Legolas replied. He watched the elf lord curiously.

"I shall get straight to the point," Erestor began. "The blizzard that blocked the High Pass has passed. It is likely the passage will be open for a few days. Due to your extensive injuries however, you will not be able to cross at this time. You will have to remain in Imladris until spring breaks and your wounds are healed. During the short time of possible passage, we wish to send word to your king and family to tell them about your location and the fact that you are alive. I assume the king will send someone to pick you up. I shall remain in Mirkwood until you have made it home safely. Seeing as I do not know your real name, I was wondering who I should turn to in Mirkwood. Maybe you could give me the names of your family members?"

Legolas hesitated. He felt the urge to tell this elf everything, to have him tell his Ada he was still alive, to ask King Thranduil to pick his youngest son up in Imladris. And yet he could not. Even after everything, he did not trust the Noldor enough for that. What if they changed their mind as soon as they knew who he was? No matter how much he wanted to trust them, he could not afford it. It was too dangerous. His heart cried for a security he did not have and so, as much as it pained him, he decided no Noldor must ever know who he was. Not before he was in the safety of Mirkwood anyway.

"Ah, it seems you do not trust us," Erestor's voice broke through Legolas' frantic thoughts. He did not sound offended. "When maybe you wish me to simply deliver a message instead of giving me any names."

Legolas thought about it. What was it he wanted his Ada to know more than anything? Beside the fact he was still alive, as he could not dare telling him that.

"I do," he answered.

Erestor rose a brow.

"Ill niem enyan ya. Juan he deera. Huawyn adjun Noldor. Homani est una," Legolas said, pronouncing each word carefully, using the undistinguishable language of the Silvans. _Do not go south. They are all dead. The Noldor saved me. Take me home. _Even using the Silvan language, Legolas' dared not to put more information in the short message.

"Ill niem enjahn yae," Erestor attempted to repeat the message with concentration written on his forehead. Legolas corrected his pronunciation. It only took a few minutes for Erestor to be able to speak the four sentences in the foreign language. Even the accentuation was right.

"Thank you. I shall return tomorrow to ensure I have the proper pronunciation memorised," Erestor said and stood. He bowed before bidding his good byes and left the hospital wing.

* * *

_**Additional Information:** In the earlier versions of 'Elrond's council' Erestor was introduced as a distant family member of Elrond, which I included in this story, even though Tolkien later took it out of The Lord of the Rings. I know that in many stories Erestor is only a librarian, but I can't really believe that. Erestor was the chief counsellor of Elrond Peredhil's household. But that household also contained Glorfindel, the reincarnated elf-prince who was the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin. So Erestor must have been quite the badass since he was the chief counsellor instead of Glorfindel. The rest is just speculation (not my own, I took the info from the following website: www . quora dotcom/What-information-can-be-found-on-Erestor-of-Imladris-in-Tolkiens-works (ff wont allow the actual dotcom so I had to spell that out.))_

_The Silvan language is completely made up. I just hit the keyboard a couple of times_

**Please review!**

**Thanks to my beta-reader Swallow-tailed Kite!**

**Guest1345: **Thank you a lot for your review! And yes, there is a sliver of hope for Alcanor

**Megan:** It would be such a waste if I gave up after writing so much of this story and investing so much time. Sorry for the delay of this chapter, but life happens and I warned you guys it might take longer


	32. 32: A Prince at a Feast

Legolas looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing black trousers and shoes and a silver tunic. He looked very formal and the tunic underlined his slim stature and his blue eyes. A worried frown appeared on his forehead. The tunic enhanced the resemblance between himself and his father. King Thranduil barely wore anything else besides delicate tunics of black or silver. Even his battle armour shone like silver and black starlight. Unlike Alcanor, who was his father's image, Legolas took after his mother. However, he still had inherited some of his father's features. Until right now, he had never realised just how much he looked like his father. The tunic was of royal, expensive fabric, shining silver in the light coming through the windows. His blond hair only played around his chin and reflected the light.

Worriedly, Legolas straightened the tunic. He looked too much like his father. He could not go to the feast like that. He looked like a young Prince Thranduil. Maybe if he smiled, they would not notice as much? After all, Thranduil did not smile often. He tried and immediately dropped the smile again. Right, he had inherited his father's smile. Fine, so definitely no smiling this evening. He might be able to pull this tunic off, but if he smiled he could just as well introduce himself as Prince Legolas Thranduillion. First of all, he needed his warrior braids. King Thranduil always kept his hair open. In battles, he wore his silver circlet that kept his hair back. The warrior braids would change his looks. However, with just one hand, Legolas could not even braid his hair.

Shaking his head, Legolas made to undress himself. He could not wear this tunic, no matter what. He struggled to get his injured arm out of it when he heard a knock.

"Enter," he said, after quickly checking the mirror if he still looked like young Prince Thranduil and found that he did not.

"Do you need help?" Glorfindel asked.

"Yes, I can't get it off."

"You are supposed to put it on, Penneth," Glorfindel smiled, but at the same time stepped up to carefully peel the fabric off of his arm without hurting Legolas.

"It's a bit tight. I am not comfortable in it. And it is so fancy I can barely breath," Legolas decided to play the wild-Silvan-elf-card. No one needed to know he was forced to wear fancy clothes like these on a regular basis.

Glorfindel laughed.

"It is a feast. Everyone will look fancy."

"You don't," Legolas dissented and blanched immediately afterwards. It was true though, the Elf Lord was wearing a pale blue shirt with the crest of his House - the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin - stitched onto the collar and a pair of black trousers. He looked neat, but not overly fancy.

Glorfindel chuckled.

"That is because I have not put my tunic on yet. I will see if I find something else for you though, little perhereg."

Legolas' face immediately became blank at the word, having heard it thrown at him as an insult many times during his childhood. He had never been able to find the same pride in it Alcanor did and as a child he had suffered a lot under it.

"I did not mean it as an insult, gwador," Glorfindel added as he noticed Legolas reaction.

"And you should not take it as that either. Or are you ashamed of your mother and father?"

"How dare you!" Legolas hissed, spinning around, his body poised and his eyes fierce. Glorfindel was once again reminded that his new friend was not only a hurt elfling but a skilled warrior to boot. Sometimes, it was easy to forget when he seemed so innocent. Even though Glorfindel began to suspect that, had Penneth been in better health, they would never have even seen this side of him.

"See?" Glorfindel raised his brow. "You are not ashamed of your parents. So why are you of their heritage? Yes, you are a perhereg. But does that not show you how much your parents loved each other? Do you actually care about the fact that your parents belong to two different races of elves? If I know just the tiniest thing about you, you do not care, or if you do, you take pride in it. So do not be ashamed of your lineage, Penneth. I am sure your parents would not like to see you suffer under it. Think about it. Meanwhile, I will just go and see if I can find another tunic for you."

After Glorfindel left, Legolas pulled the chair closer to sit down on it. Standing in front of the mirror for too long had left his stomach wound throbbing and he had been getting dizzy too. He was only slowly getting better. He grew more aware each day and the pain lessened. He was still strongly restricted in his movements and would remain so until his stomach wound was better. He could manage to stand for only a few minutes at the time, before getting dizzy spells and a throbbing pain which caused him to seek for a place to sit.

Bitterly, he had helped Lord Erestor prepare for his journey this morning. Legolas had shown the elf paths through the forest which had still been safe as far as he knew. Together, they had stood brooding over old, outdated maps and Legolas' heart had ached as he'd looked down at the dark ink. Red lines formed a border that had long since fallen, paths were marked that were long lost and other newer ones were not indicated at all. Jealousy and pain had risen in Legolas' chest, as well as the fear he was by now very accustomed to. He had held the information as limited as possible, only showing Lord Erestor a few different possible ways to reach the stronghold without meeting dark creatures. Always careful to not give vital information that the Noldor could possibly use against them.

They seemed so much nicer than Legolas had imagined them. Lord Elrond was always gentle and never attempted to press Legolas to do anything, Glorfindel kept calling him gwador and helped Legolas outside each day, only to sit next to him while he conversed with the trees. The twins even managed to make him laugh several times. But life in Mirkwood had taught Legolas one thing: All that glitters is not gold. Too often Legolas had found himself betrayed by the darkness. Elves who had succumbed to the darkening spirit had fallen into their backs, trees he had known for all his life had given him away to the enemy. Legolas did not trust easily anymore. And after all the bad things he had heard about the Noldor, he did not trust them either. He was forced to trust them with his life, but he would not rely on their assurances or their seeming kindness when it came to his people and his home. Alcanor had told them how they all were kind and how he had really liked the twins. And yet he had almost gotten murdered here. Lord Glorfindel had explained about it, but that could easily be a made up story to satisfy him and try to gain his trust. He would not reveal his identity, nor any vital information to them.

The dark haired Noldo elf Erestor would see Mirkwood many weeks before he himself would, if ever again. He wondered how Mirkwood was. How his Ada was. What had the king done after he had not returned to the border station when he was due? They would probably have waited for a day or two before sending search missions. Legolas prayed there were no elves beyond the border. And yet he knew his siblings would surely be looking for him.

Legolas blinked quickly before the faces of his dead patrol could haunt him again. Avoiding the memory had become harder and harder the better he got. He swallowed. No matter how hard he attempted to not think about them, it seemed impossible.

A hand touched his shoulder and Legolas gratefully accepted the distraction.

"Try this one," Lord Glorfindel said, ignoring Legolas' red-tinged eyes as he handed him a light green tunic, covered in dark green stitching. Struggling, Legolas stood once again.

"Glorfindel," Legolas began as the balrog-slayer helped him into the tunic.

"Yes?"

Legolas looked into the bright blue eyes of the strong elf before him. Glorfindel held himself with a sense of royalty that was awe-inducing. His sharp gaze seemed to undo Legolas every single time, especially because it was laced with compassion, worry and a youthful cheek. The Mirkwood prince found himself wanting to trust this elf with all his heart and with every passing day it got harder to keep to himself.

"Why do you care?" The question spluttered out of Legolas' mouth before he could stop himself.

Glorfindel was surprised not only by the question, but also by Legolas' intense and direct gaze. The elfling met his eyes straight on, without a single indication of shyness of nervousness. He frowned. There was something this elf was not telling them, Glorfindel was sure of it. Penneth was too suspicious, too focused on keeping himself closed off, too forward then it came to standing before some of the most powerful elves on Arda. It happened seldom that Elrond or Erestor met an elf who could challenge them with such ease, who behaved as if being surrounded by powerful people was normal.

"Because you are my gwador," Glorfindel answered with a smile. He really liked this elf, no matter what it was he was hiding. Penneth's strong will impressed him. The elfling had told them how he had sustained his injuries. How he had been impaled by an arrow with a cruel orc-made head, how he had fought despite a gaping hole in his side. When others would have been unable to remain conscious, this elf had not only shown the will to pull himself onto his feet but to force his weakened, pained body to fight against orcs. And even now his spirit was strong; his wounds were barely beginning to heal and yet Penneth stood tall and proud, his skittishness and fear induced more by distrust than by actual shyness.

The young warrior did not seem satisfied with Glorfindel's answer for he only stared at the balrog slayer for several more seconds, before he lowered his eyes and wordlessly took the new tunic and put it on.

* * *

With the new tunic, Legolas gladly realised he looked less like his father. After he assured himself of that fact, he did not bother with the mirror anymore. He quickly put the sling over his head and sighed softly as he could rest his injured arm in it instead of holding it against his chest. He waited a few minutes until there was a knock at the door. Lord Glorfindel had gone to get ready for the feast himself and had ordered Legolas to wait for him so they could join the festivities together. Knowing he would need someone to lean on on his way down, Legolas had not had much of an option but to accept. Already, he could hear music weaving its way through the open window and laughter mixed with many voices. Officially, Lord Elrond would open the doors to his hall at sunset and everyone seated at Elrond's table would be introduced according to his rank. Meaning Legolas would be last to be introduced as he had claimed no titles and only joined as a guest of honour.

Glorfindel remained silent as he helped Legolas down the stairs. They had to go slowly and still Legolas felt drained at the bottom. Just how in Arda had he managed to get down here two weeks ago and then fight against Glorfindel before fleeing this place? Legolas had always known he was stubborn but this was the first time it was this obvious to himself just how stubborn he was! He'd been insane!

"Penneth? Is that you?" One of the twins asked. Legolas looked up and met Elrohir's gaze in confusion. The twin was dressed in a dark blue tunic and stared at Legolas with surprised wide eyes.

"Do you have anyone else staying here who is in such disgusting need of assistance?" Legolas could not help but let his frustrations out.

"I don't want you to say that again, Penneth," Glorfindel reprimanded him with sharp tone. "I know you can't stand to accept help, but there is nothing disgusting about it. You are not weak. You are simply injured."

"One equals the other," Legolas said softly under his breath. Still, there was no point in antagonizing the elf lord who had been nothing but friendly to him so far. Imladris was a place of healing. They would not see the need of assistance as the same sign of weakness Legolas saw in it. He sighed deeply and was surprised to feel Glorfindel's comforting hand rest briefly on his shoulder, as if the balrog slayer had been able to follow his exact thoughts.

"You look stunning, Penneth. The tunic really suits you. You should keep it when you go back to Mirkwood."

"I am not a big fan of fancy clothing," Legolas admitted, having calmed down thanks to Glorfindel's simple gesture.

"A pity, you look great," Elladan joined with calm voice.

"Ada will open the hall in a few minutes. Everyone else is already in the Hall of Light. We should join them," he then explained and gestured towards an open archway where many voices were mingled together.

The Hall of Light was magnificent. Legolas stopped in his trek, forcing Glorfindel who was holding his arm to stop as well. Light was streaming into the large, round room through a dome made entirely out of glass. The light broke and threw colourful dancing spots all across the room. Legolas looked up, his eyes wide with wonder and his mouth had fallen open. The twins, who were so very used to see this, looked at each other with amusement and for the first time in many years they looked up to see the same beauty that caused the wild wood elf to halt in awe.

"You have nothing like this in Mirkwood?" Elladan asked softly, realising just how lucky they were in Imladris.

"Mirkwood is of wild beauty but nothing we have compares to this. Ay, what would I give to have such light in the caverns of our stronghold. It opens my heart. This place is full of wonders. Imladris is a haven of beauty." Legolas words came haltingly as he attempted to pull himself together and yet found he could not tear his eyes away from the roof. He did not even have a single glance for the many visitors currently in the Hall of Light, many of them who were staring at them with interest. Some had heard about the wood elf who stayed at the halls of Lord Elrond, others were simply curious as to who this strange elf was, accompanied by the twin sons of Elrond and by Lord Glorfindel as well.

Legolas barely realised that the balrog slayer left his side as he was called in as the feast officially began.

"It is your turn," Elrohir gently nudged Legolas.

"I beg your pardon?" Legolas asked confusedly.

"You are supposed to go in and take your seat, Penneth," Elladan said and only now Legolas noticed that the room had emptied.

Standing straight, ignoring a wince as he held his head high, he walked into the room as he heard himself being introduced. Lord Elrond's table was situated at the far end of the room, a bit higher than the other tables, which were already occupied.

"Please welcome our new friend at our table, who shall be our guest of honour from the far Mirkwood. As his name is unknown, he shall be known as Penneth of Mirkwood, gwador to Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower and a loyal warrior to Thranduil, King of Mirkwood."

Legolas did not have to think about what to say as he walked down the short aisle, feeling the many eyes on him. He stopped before the table. Automatically, he tried to bow, but only winced sharply and stopped himself, a hand on his rips and a fleeting but clear expression of pain crossing over his features.

"My Lord Elrond Peredhil," Legolas began, bowing his head instead. "Today, you wished to honour me by offering a place at your esteemed table and I accept with thanks. Your table serves place for many a noble and mighty person, both in blood and in spirit. To be welcomed in your midst is a great honour to me indeed. An honour I feel unworthy of and yet I would never dare to give up on the opportunity you presented me. I thank you for your kindness, my Lord, and your patience and wisdom. Your hospitality is much appreciated, as well as your ongoing aid to my health. "

Legolas spoke loud and clearly, without hesitance, confident and with well-practised words. As he finished, he bowed his head deeply in a sign of respect.

One second, only silence reigned and Legolas began to wonder if he had said something wrong. The protocol was drilled so much into him he had not given a second thought about how to speak with a ruler of a foreign Realm. Mirkwood might isolate itself but it was not as ignorant towards the outside world as many thought. Also, King Thranduil held traditions as highly as respectful behaviour. Legolas, as well as his siblings, knew how to present themselves politely and how to follow the protocol.

Legolas held himself unmoving, even though his thoughts were racing: Had he forgotten something?

"To have you at my table honours me, Penneth. Please, take your seat," Lord Elrond's contemplative voice rang as he gestured towards the free seat next to Glorfindel, who in turn sat to Elrond's left.

As Legolas made his way around the long table, Glorfindel exchanged a surprised gaze with Elrond.

"He is of noble blood, that much is obvious," Elrond contemplated. Had Penneth really been a lowly wood elf captain, he would not have known how to speak in this situation with such ease. This elf had been raised with protocol and words, it was not simply an acquired skill.

Glorfindel agreed. It had been less the words the elfling had used, but more the way he had delivered them and how he had held himself. Here, in this hall, the warrior behaved very different than before. Even the way he moved proved a practiced elegance that had nothing to do with the raw, elegant wildness that had underlined his movements before.

"He reminded me of someone but I can't put my finger on it. However, I am sure now that his father must be an important elf in Mirkwood. It would explain his reluctance to give us his name and to tell us about his family. He still fears we will use him to get what we want," Elrond realised with a sigh. Thinking back on how the elfling had allowed him to embrace him had Elrond shake these thoughts away. The warrior was beginning to trust them, even though slowly. The first time he had talked to him, Penneth had thrown himself out of the window after all, so he could already count this as a massive success. Trying to push him would achieve the exact opposite. For now, they had to make sure Penneth was safe and healthy and would be able to return to Mirkwood come spring.

* * *

Legolas made it through most of the meal. He managed a polite conversation with the elf next to him. Giving up on the food, he pushed his plate away. His neighbour meanwhile filled two goblets with dark red wine before forcing Legolas to take one. Knowing that he should not drink alcohol while he was still so injured, Legolas was not exactly sure how to react. In Mirkwood, it was not common to offer alcohol in such forceful manner. Before Legolas had to make up his mind, the goblet was taken from him and his table neighbour was met the stern look of Lord Elrond.

"You tired?" Glorfindel asked him and Legolas could only nod his head. He was very drowsy and the many voices were giving him a headache.

"Let us go to the Hall of Fire. The others will follow after dinner is over to listen to story-telling or singing. You should get some rest."

The evening passed quickly. Legolas fell asleep in the Hall of Fire for several hours and then he woke, Lord Glorfindel was sitting next to him, nursing a goblet of wine and listening to a soft melody. At one point, Legolas found himself singing a song about Mirkwood and he silenced the room for many minutes afterwards as his voice was clear like the stars. He sang of the hidden beauty, of leaves in the wind and the whispers of the trees surrounding him like soft rays of sun. It was a lively song often sung by the celebrating Silvans as it spoke of their love for their home. Normally, his friends would be dancing while he sang, Legolas recalled. Eriandras' face appeared before him and his voice broke just once, before regaining its strength. Feeling homesick and pained by his wounds, Legolas retired to the gardens afterwards. He went to sleep under the lime tree and slept so deep, he did not feel how Lord Elrond himself picked him up to carry him back inside shortly after The elf lord was feeling guilty for having forced the wood elf to such an exhausting evening. And yet it had been worth it. The elfling had enjoyed himself, that much had been obvious for everyone present.

* * *

_**Please review!**_

**Thanks to my beta-reader Jaxzan Proditur and Swallow-tailed Kite!**

**earthdragon**: I know Peredhil is not their last name, however in the Lord of the Rings, Elrond is mentioned several times and spoken to as Elrond Peredhil, which is why I decided to do the same for Erestor. I reread several parts of the Lord of the Rings before writing this last chapter. As for your theory that Glorfindel simply was not reborn by the time Erestor got the job, that is (most likely) not true. While Tolkien had not fleshed the idea out of Glorfindel's rebirth, he did say this:

_"After his purging of any guilt that he had incurred in the rebellion [of the Noldor], he was released from Mandos, and Manwë restored him. […] When did Glorfindel return to Middle-earth? This must probably have occurred before the end of the Second Age, and the 'Change of the World' and the Drowning of Númenor, after which no living embodied creature, 'humane' or of lesser kinds, could return from the Blessed Realm which had been 'removed from the Circles of the World'."_

_— J. R. R. Tolkien: The Peoples of Middle-earth. „Late Writings". Kap. XIII „Last Writings". „Glorfindel". S. 380_

And also this was an interpretation of Tolkien's notes by Christopher Tolkien:

_Eventually, Manwë sent him across the sea to Middle-earth, possibly as early as Second Age 1200, but more likely in 1600 with the Blue Wizards. If the latter date, he arrived just after the One Ring had been forged, Barad-dûr built, and Celebrimbor dead or soon to be so. While the Blue Wizards were sent to the east, Glorfindel's mission was to aid Gil-galad and Elrond in the struggle against Sauron. He played a prominent behind-the-scenes role in the war in Eriador and the other struggles of the Second Age and Third Age. His part, though great, was mostly overlooked by the histories, because his immense, angelic power was not usually displayed openly.[5]_

Erestor however only migrated to Imladris _after _the War of the Last Alliance where his king Gil-galad died. As Gondolin was destroyed, it is likely Glorfindel fround his way to Imladris earlier than that, considering his return to Middle-Earth before this battle took place. Also, Glorfindel not only knew Elrond's father. (When they fled after the fall of Gondoling, the Princess Idirl, her husband Tuor and their young son Earendil (who would later be Elrond's and Elros' father) were under his command,) but was also meant to aid Elrond so this might have been a reason for him to go the Imladris instead of wandering Middle-Earth aimlessly.

You see, I put actually quite a lot of thought into this detail. Sorry if I just battered you to death with it but I had all of this researched and you sorta asked ;)

**Guest:** You any good in organic chemistry?

**Megan:** Thanks for your patience. Sometimes I need a bit longer to write a chapter, simply because I have other things going on in life and sometimes I just cannot come up with good content for the next chapter within only two weeks

**Lord Illyren:** I like to think Elrond would hesitate sending a message as long as he can't say whether the wood elf will survive or not.


	33. 33: A wood elf's Message

Thranduil stood tall in the lower area of his mountain castle. The nearly deafening sound of falling water echoed in the ravine of his dungeons. The cell only a few meters away, down two sets of stairs and across a narrow bridge, contained what was left of his oldest son. Orc-Alcanor was raging in the small enclosure, his yells and screams heard even over the waterfall. The king felt numb. The pain in his chest had become so unbearable he could not feel it anymore.

His eyes flickered as Eyaenne came up the stairs, followed by Captain Methelion of Ravenstone Outpost and Falin. Eyaenne and Falin both seemed emotionally and physically drained and exhausted. Meanwhile, Methelion stayed a contrast with his eyes hard and his movements as elegant as one would expect from an elf.

"Ada," Eyaenne said as she stopped before him. Thranduil had felt such a relief as he had seen her standing in front of the giant gates to these halls. He had worried about her so much, not knowing where she was. He had felt his love for her wash over him with hot intensity. He'd rip his heart out for her, just as he would rip heart out for his other children. He had wanted to embrace her. And yet, his body had not moved.

"Yes?" He asked, his blue eyes distant.

"I …" Eyaenne began.

"I will get some sleep," she finally said, brushing past him and heading up the stairs to the livelier areas of the castle. Falin followed her after a pleading look to his father that remained unrequited.

"My king," Methelion bowed before the stern posture.

"Captain Methelion," King Thranduil nodded. "You have my thanks for protecting my children."

"It was the least I could do, my king," Methelion bowed deeply.

"Accompany me," Thranduil drawled and stepped around the archer, heading down the stairs himself. He hesitated on the small bridge, the water raging several meters underneath his shoes. He had not seen Alcanor as an orc. And he was not sure if he could take it. He had heard his son's beautiful voice yell in the ugly disfigured language of the darkness and it had made him stumble and gasp with heart break.

Slowly, he continued walking. To his ears the sound of his heels was loud like thunder, even though in reality it was nearly drowned by the noise of the water. Methelion followed his king with careful steps, ready to catch the elf should he stumble. Because even though Thranduil seemed as regal and kingly than ever, Methelion had heard the rumours in the palace already, had heard that apparently the king had harmed himself. Also, he had travelled several days in the company of both Princess Eyaenne and Prince Falin and had come to notice just how close to fading the two siblings were. No doubt a notion enhanced by the fact their older brother turned orc had constantly been in sight.

Thranduil stopped a few meters away from the cell. He took another hesitant step before he stopped again.

"Captain Methelion?" He asked, his voice hallow.

"My king?"

"How bad is it?" Slowly, King Thranduil turned to the elf. "How bad is it?" He repeated forlorn.

Methelion's eyes took a hint of sorrow.

"It is bad, my king. Prince Alcanor … this beast looks like your son, my king, but it is not. I have travelled with Princess Eyaenne and Prince Falin because I'd seen what seeing this orc did to them and I was worried. It sends shivers down my spine to see this beast and think of our Prince. I cannot imagine how terrible it must be for your family."

Thranduil stood still for several moments before he nodded. Slowly, he made his way over the narrow walkway towards the cell. Carefully, he leaned forwards to glance between the iron bars. He gasped and bit his lip as he saw orc-Alcanor. The red eyes glowed in the darkness of the cell and Alcanor's beautiful features were contorted in a grimace. Blood spilled over Thranduil's lips but the king forced himself to continue looking at the orc. Several minutes he stood there, not really hearing the raging of the creature before him, his thoughts distant. The blood from his lip had spilled over his chin and dropped over his silver tunic and onto the floor.

Thranduil stepped back, hastily retreating from the terrible sight, no longer able to look at what his son had become. He only noticed Methelion holding him upright after they had crossed the bridge and the elf was helping him to sit down onto the stairs.

"Thank you," Thranduil nodded his head, his hands shaking in the grasp of the younger elf.

"Mithrandir?" he whispered enquiringly upon smelling the faint odour of tobacco that always clung to the wizard's robes.

The wizard grumbled under his breath, unintelligible over the sound of falling water, before speaking up. Whatever he had to say was drowned by another elf who sprinted down the stairs and fell to his knees before Thranduil. The elf's eyes widened and he froze upon seeing the blood that disgraced the silver robe and netted his king's chin.

"Speak up!" Methelion ordered sharply and the elf snapped out of it.

"My king! One of the patrols has made contact with a Noldo who ventured into our Realm. Lord Erestor of Imladris requests to speak with you. He claims to have information about one of our own."

Thranduil looked up, his blue eyes suddenly focused again and as he stood his posture was as royal as if nothing had happened.

"Lord Erestor of Imladris?" He repeated slowly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Bring him to me as soon as he arrives. I wish to know with what right the Noldor claim the urgency to enter this forest unbidden."

He stood and ascended the stairs.

"Mithrandir, Methelion, with me," he called over his shoulder with an icy ring to his voice, leaving the stunned messenger kneeling on the floor.

* * *

Glorfindel stepped outside. Snow was falling in thick flakes and coated the land. Everything was silent. A strange blue light fell through the thick clouds above. The balrog slayer had his bow with him as he made his way over to the shooting range. He walked atop of the snow, barely sinking into the white blanket but still enough to make it crunch slightly. The blond elf enjoyed this sound. A gust of wind blew his hair into his face and he raised his arm to brush it away. Doing so, he noticed a figure standing a few hundred meters ahead at the training field, skilfully handling a long dagger. Wondering who else would spent this beautiful day on the training field instead of celebrating with the others in the gardens, Glorfindel made his way over.

He recognized Penneth then he was still quite far away. The young warrior wore several layers of thick clothes to protect him against the cold. Penneth had gotten a lot better during the last four weeks, but he was still sensitive to the elements, shivering whenever a window was opened. The blue eyes had closed off and Penneth's posture had become more rigid. Now one could barely see the elfling in the strong warrior anymore. Not once after the feast to the honour of Feawyn had Penneth allowed any close contact. He was very quiet and barely talked anymore at all. The nightmares had become worse as well. Every morning, Penneth had dark circles under his eyes and Elrond had had to hurry into Penneth's room to wake him several times after the wood elf had yelled out in his sleep. Every single time, Penneth had pushed the elf lord away from himself as soon as his eyes opened while words of apology were flowing out of his mouth for waking them. No matter how gently Elrond or Glorfindel or even the twins had attempted to approach the subject, Penneth would not tell them about his nightmares or allow them to comfort him in any shape or form. It frustrated Glorfindel to no end to see how much Penneth closed himself off, determined to not allow them to help him.

Glorfindel came closer and he could see Penneth was whirling the dagger around with his functioning left hand. His right shoulder had mostly healed over but he was still unable to lift it higher than his chest. Every time he failed doing so, Penneth's lips thinned and his eyes took a pained look.

"What are you doing?" Glorfindel questioned while he was still several feet away. Most other people he would have called show-offs for what Penneth was practicing seemed like fancy but useless tricks and not like serious training.

"Training my muscles," Penneth replied evenly. His cheeks were reddened from the cold and his only shoulder-length blond hair was hanging into his eyes, carried by the wind.

Glorfindel nodded in understanding and had to admit that practicing tricks would indeed train the muscles, especially around his wrist.

Penneth looked up without stopping handling the long knife. His eyes caught the quiver on Glorfindel's back and the bow in his hand.

"Are you going to the shooting lane?" Penneth asked.

Surprised that the wood elf had initiated some sort of conversation, Glorfindel nodded.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

"Not at all," Glorfindel replied and gestured towards the shooting range. Penneth threw the dagger into the air, skilfully caught it and returned it to the scabbard.

"Where did you learn that?" Glorfindel nodded towards the dagger.

For one moment it did not seem as if Penneth would answer as he walked up beside Glorfindel.

"My sister taught me," he replied quietly. This was the first time ever Penneth told them something about his life.

"Do you have many siblings? I know you have a brother, but nothing else."

"How do you know?" Penneth's brow furrowed.

"You were in very bad shape. You woke up and then I talked to you, you asked if I were your muindor. I negated and told you I was your gwador."

"Gwador," Penneth repeated and smiled softly. He seemed to be strangely open today, for he had not called Glorfindel by that name since the night Glorfindel had woken him from that terrible nightmare only to spent the night next to his bed.

"I have … several siblings," Penneth drawled hesitantly.

"How is your wound doing?" Glorfindel asked.

"I am almost completely healed," Penneth replied, yet kept his right arm stiffly against his side. That was not completely true and Glorfindel knew it, but he remained silent. Wounds like those Penneth had received could not fully heal in just a little over two months. However, it was a fact that Elrond was surprised as to how quickly the wounds were healing, even though they'd still need a few months.

They arrived at the shooting lane. A hundred paces further down, the wooden targets were barely visible through the snow. Glorfindel tensioned the bow and took an arrow out of the quiver. Notching it, he took a few seconds to focus and to watch the snowflakes dancing in the wind, before he let go. The arrow head hit the target and Glorfindel scowled upon realising it was almost a centimetre left to the bull's eye.

"It is the wind gushing through the trees," Penneth spoke next to him and Glorfindel turned surprised.

"You are an archer?" he asked.

"I used to be."

"What do you mean? What weapon are you using now?" Glorfindel asked, sending another arrow, this time perfectly hitting the black dot.

"I won't be able to handle any weapon satisfactorily if I cannot use my right arm," Penneth replied, watching the balrog slayer as he shot another two arrows.

Glorfindel stopped to look at the elf next to him. Penneth's eyes were focused on the target and his face was blank, not showing any emotions. The balrog slayer did not know what to say. Instead, he sent another arrow flying.

"Do you want me to swing the targets?" Penneth asked and nodded towards the round wooden targets that were hanging on long ropes.

"Yes, if you do not mind."

They spent about an hour outside. Only when Glorfindel saw how Penneth began to shiver did he call for a halt and ordered to warrior back inside. In the entrance hall, Penneth hesitated. Watching him closely, Glorfindel saw him bite his lip before he turned to leave.

"Gwador," Glorfindel said. "What is wrong?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?" Penneth raised one brow.

"I can see something is bothering you. Is it something I can help you with?"

Penneth hesitated.

"No," he finally replied, turned and left.

"Stubborn wood elf," Glorfindel muttered under his breath.

* * *

Stubborn wood elves, Erestor thought with amused worry as the blindfold was tied around his head. The wood elves he had met just an hour before were quiet people, talking in hushed voices and always alert and tense. Compared to the elves in Rivendell, they seemed much wilder, which did not mean they seemed stupid, less organised or impolite. Their behaviour however was raw and deadly, focused entirely on the efficiency of survival, their commands harsh and their faces set determined. They had had to fight against evil creatures for too long, had seen too many terrible sights. Erestor now understood what Elrohir had told him about the time he went to Mirkwood only a few weeks prior.

The group started walking. For five days Erestor walked blindfolded through the forest, keeping quiet. They were attacked by spiders once and within less than a second, his blindfold had vanished together with the rope around his hands. His weapon had been thrust into his hands so he could defend himself, even though it quickly proved unnecessary as the wood elves were able to take care of the spiders quickly. Afterwards, the black fabric over his eyes returned and he had to give his weapon away as well.

The blindfold was finally taken off for good when he had arrived before the great green gates leading into the very heart of Mirkwood. Before Erestor had any chance to look around he was lead through and towards a gigantic throne room. He had never been here before and Erestor openly admitted that the giant hall was breath-taking. Strands of light falling through distant windows and many, strategically well placed lights illuminating the great cavern that could have easily seemed dark and dank but was anything but.

King Thranduil seemed to be awaiting him. He stood tall before his throne as regal and distant as ever, clad in a silver tunic and a heavy shawl of livid red fabric around his shoulders. With interest did Erestor notice that the king's lip was slightly swollen and even had stitches in it.

Beside him stood five elves. A young she-elf with dark curls and hard leather body armour stood next to another elf with very long silver hair that reached down to his hips who was clad in similar armour. Next to them stood two twins, both dressed in a loose tunic with royal stitching around the neckline. All four of them seemed battered. Their eyes shone from deep sockets and their faces were drawn. The twins seemed especially pale and lost with their shoulders slumped and their eyes devoid of light. The twins held each other's hands. Erestor shivered as he recognized the signs of fading in all of their faces.

Searching their faces, Erestor began to worry even more for he recognized them to Thranduil's children. The young warriorness must either be Princess Eyaenne or Princess Iarith, the twins were undoubtedly Prince Arahen and Prince Daeros which left the elf with the long silver hair to be Prince Falin. Erestor could not see Prince Alcanor present, nor the second princess or the queen. He wondered whom of them the Royal Family had lost.

The fifth elf stood further away from the other's. Brown eyes surveyed the visitor expectantly. His hands were folded behind his back and he stood tall and attentive, his eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly. Unlike the others he did not resemble Thranduil at all, so Erestor assumed he was unrelated to the king.

On Thranduil's other side stood Mithrandir the grey, his wrinkled hand wrapped around the long staff, his long beard hiding a grim smile.

"King Thranduil of Mirkwood," Erestor bowed deeply.

"Lord Erestor of Imladris," the king replied icily.

"What urgent matter brings you to Mirkwood, old friend?" Even though Thranduil sounded as if he did not even care, Erestor saw the suspicion glittering in Thranduil's blue eyes. He smiled softly as he recalled having seen similarly distrustful blue eyes set in Penneth's face only a few weeks prior.

"I have come to tell you about the fate of one of your warriors, King Thranduil," Erestor began with well-placed words, his voice deliberately slow. "A few weeks ago, directly after Lord Elrohir's last visit, a group of Imladris' elves who travelled south to Lorien came close to the edge of your forest where the Anduin draws close. Just as they walked past, one of your wood elves stumbled out of the forest, gravely injured. In order to save his life, they brought him to Imladris to be healed. They were unsure if he'd survive and it was close, however, my old friend Lord Elrond managed to save him. He currently resides in the Hidden Valley."

Thranduil's lips were pressed together but that was the only indication of his anger.

"How do I know you speak the truth?"

"He gave me a message to relate to you," Erestor replied, glad that Penneth had decided to give him the message. Concentrating on the proper pronunciation he spoke the foreign words: "Ill niem enyan ya. Juan he deera. Huawyn adjun Noldor. Homani est una."

The king did not react to the words at all, however Erestor could see Princess Eyaenne and Prince Falin tense up and exchanging a glance. Meanwhile the twins seemed startled enough to look at him for the first time. Erestor wondered just what Penneth's message had contained.

* * *

_**Please review!**_

**Thanks to my beta-reader Swallow-tailed Kite!**

**Guest#1: **Just don't get caught :D Though obviously I do not encourage you to read at work, it means a lot to me that you enjo this story this much :D I passed organic chemistry and nope, it will never be my favourite subject. Got lab time for the next three weeks, so unsure how much time I will find to write.

**Megan:** I can't wait to see their reactions either. Especially because I have no idea how I am supposed to do it! And people are so looking forward to it. I do not like pressure ... though I probably work better under it.

**Guest#2:** Thanks for leaving a review!I try to update every two weeks, though it is irregular and with life going on, it might take longer sometimes! Please continue reviewing!

**Guest#3:** Is that leggyrespect123 again? If not, yes, I did change the end a bit so it would make more sense

**Guest#4:** Thanks for the praise! Legolas is learning to trust them. However, how things will go once/if Legolas returns to Mirkwood ... time will tell ;) Please continue reviewing!


	34. 34: Finding Forgotten Paths

_Do not go south. They are all dead. The Noldor saved me. Take me home!_

At first, the king was left untouched by the message. However, slowly, unbidden images of Legolas sitting huddled up in a corner with ripped and bloody clothes appeared before his inner eye. The pain in his chest seemed to become stronger and stronger with every passing day. And he had not even returned Legolas' sentiment when his son's last words to him had been: _I love you Ada_. He had just stood there and raised a cold eyebrow at his baby.

Thranduil felt a shaky breath leaving him and he quickly turned with his back to Erestor. The message shook him. He could literally feel the young warrior's desperation. He took a few steady breaths. He felt the concerned eyes of his children on him. He needed to be strong for them.

"I love you all, my children," he said with tortured voice, feeling the desperate need to make sure they knew it despite his incapability to show them. He did not wait for their reaction, but turned back around to face Erestor.

"This wood elf, what is his name?" Thranduil drawled, switching back to Sindarin.

"We do not know," Erestor replied evenly. "He refused to give us his name. We have taken to simply call him Penneth."

"Can you give us a description?"

"He has a golden head of hair and blue eyes. He is young in age and old in wisdom and he seems to be an experienced warrior. Also, he mentioned he was on a patrol south of the border. We do not know much more about him, as he is reluctant to speak to us at all. But he has mentioned he is worried about his family's fate, afraid they might fade if they believe him gone."

Thranduil stilled. He knew that feeling well enough. If what Erestor said was true, they had to get '_Penneth'_ back as soon as possible. Somewhere in his Realm was a family thinking one of theirs was dead. Because of an order Thranduil had given. One family could have their son returned to them. What would Thranduil have given if there had been any hope that this was Legolas. His Legolas. His precious baby. But they had found his body. He had buried his youngest son next to his youngest daughter and his wife. No father should have to bury his children. And no father should have to mourn for a child that was not even dead. Whoever Penneth was, they had to make it possible to bring him home.

"Are there any blond elves whose bodies are unaccounted for?" Thranduil turned to Eyaenne.

"Merion, Lassalion, Eladras and Gylond," Eyaenne replied, thinking quickly.

"It could be any of them, as far as I know. They are all relatively young," Thranduil mused. It seemed they would be unable to inform the warrior's family he was still alive. They could not afford telling the wrong family and only increase their pain if the warrior turned out to be one of the other blondes who were missing.

"What do you want, Erestor?" Thranduil turned to the elf.

"I want for Penneth to be able to return home," Erestor replied evenly.

"And what do you want from us in return?" Thranduil asked again.

"Nothing," Erestor declared clearly. A surprised look entered Thranduil's eyes.

"Nothing?" He repeated.

"Nothing. We never wanted the animosity between our people. We are on your side, Thranduil. Penneth should be able to return home as soon as possible. The disagreements of two Realms should not stop a son of Mirkwood to return home. His wounds were too grievous to allow him to travel with me and now the pass is blocked once more. I came to make you aware of the fact that one of your warriors found refuge in Imladris. He may return as soon as he is healed. I will stay here as a reassurance that this is no cruel trick on our side. I shall not request to leave before Penneth has returned to his home."

"You will stay here?" Princess Eyaenne cut in, obviously surprised.

"Yes. I understand there is little trust between our people. I offer myself as a hostage so you can put faith into my words."

A long silence filled the giant hall after that. Then, Eyaenne turned and began whispering urgently with her brothers. A hushed discussion broke out.

"Enough!" Thranduil's sharp voice ordered. "If you have something to say, do so loud enough for all of us to hear, Eyaenne. You are a princess; you should know better than to whisper as impolitely as you do."

"I will go to Imladris and pick Penneth up," Eyaenne declared loudly.

"No!" Thranduil span around.

"Ada … I cannot stay here. It drives me insane," Eyaenne said with low voice. "And who else do you wish to send to pick Penneth up? One of us will have to go!" She gestured towards her brothers, her voice picking up volume. "Let me take Roewen! She will fade if she does not have something to hold on to. Let us take Penneth home and give him something we have been unable to give Legolas. I will not sit here and illie ast anme ungnoth el drago esthil nem!"

In the middle of the sentence Princess Eyaenne suddenly switched to the silvan tongue, apparently not even noticing as she did so. Interested, Erestor watched how Thranduil followed the change in language suit and with no troubles at all. While Thranduil remained unreadable, his face smooth, his blue eyes cold, Princess Eyaenne clearly grew more agitated with every passing word. In the end, she grabbed her father's elegant robe and yelled. But even now Thranduil remained calm, a lot calmer than Erestor would have thought him capable of. He wrapped one hand around Princess Eyaenne's grip on his robe and spoke to her in soft hushed tones. The princess let go of her father's robes, took one step back and apologized with subdued and tired tone. Her eyes were swimming in tears. The next time she spoke, her voice sounded pleadingly. Erestor could see Thranduil losing the battle with his daughter.

"She will come to no harm, Thranduil," Erestor spoke to the adverse king. "I would not put my life in danger if I had any suspicions about Lord Elrond's intentions. No elf who comes to Imladris will be purposely harmed. And no Noldo would dare attempting going against Lord Elrond's precise orders, not after what he subjected Eranion to. Eranion was forever banished from all elven Realms and the Grey Havens will remain closed for him until the last elf has left Middle-Earth. The dangerous incident with Crown Prince Alcanor will not repeat itself."

"Do not say his name," one of twins gasped, his face in agony. Thranduil moved to stand next to his twin sons and put an arm around both of them. The children accepted the gesture with relief.

Erestor's eyes saddened as he understood.

"I apologize. I am deeply sorry for your loss," Erestor said seriously and bowed deeply. So it was Crown Prince Alcanor who had died. For one moment, all members of the Royal Family seemed to struggle. Even the calm façade on the king's face crumbled. He began talking to his children in hushed tone and Erestor felt like he was intruding something.

"You said he was injured," a new voice broke through the silence. Erestor turned to the other elf who had so far remained silent and who now attempted to draw his attention away from the Royal Family.

"Just how extensive are his injuries? Will there be any lasting damage?"

Erestor's eyes saddened once more as he recalled Penneth's cries of utter agony once he had realised he could not lift his arm. They had been heard through most of the house.

"I am afraid so," Erestor replied and noticed how the other elves present slowly regained their composure. "His side was severely damaged. An orc-made arrow hit him and as he fell the bolt was driven through his body entirely. Also, his right shoulder was downright in tatters. Most likely, he will never again regain full control of his right arm. He was not able to lift his arm any higher than his ribcage than I left. Lord Elrond said there is a chance he could perform a surgery to help Penneth but also warned he could be making things worse. Penneth, however, seemed adamant to take this chance."

"If the Noldor hurt my daughter," Thranduil spoke softly, having broken free from the embrace with his sons. Instead, he stood in front of them in a protective manner. He suddenly seemed forlorn with his tall posture and long silver-blond hair. "I will personally tear you into pieces, Erestor, before I ride to your Hidden Valley and have the half-elf answer for it."

Erestor really hoped no one would mess up in Rivendell. He bowed in consent.

"You may go, Eyaenne," Thranduil answered with obvious reluctance.

* * *

Elladan couldn't sleep. For hours he had now been laying in his bed. Wide awake, he stared at the ceiling. He could hear Elrohir's deep breaths and watched how the moonlight drew dancing shadows of tree twigs against the ceiling. The wind rushed around the house and the waterfalls surrounding Imladris thundered into the darkness. The snow turned the light blue and everything seemed as peaceful as it could possibly get. And yet Elladan could not sleep.

Sighing, the twin pushed his blanket to the side and sat up. His naked feet touched the warm wooden floor. For one moment, he just sat there and watched his sleeping brother. He felt too agitated to attempt going to sleep any longer. Also, he was getting hungry. Deciding he would search the kitchens for something to eat, the healer stood and silently left the room. The hallway lay in dim light, not enough to make out the plant pots or the statures standing at the sides. But Elladan had grown up here; He did not need any light to find his way. Treading softly, he wandered down towards the kitchens.

A whimpering made him stop. Surprised, Elladan tilted his head to one side and listened. Again, he heard soft whimpering. Realisation dawned as his eyes wandered to where the darkness hid the door towards Penneth's room. He knew the elf was having bad nightmares almost every day. Well, it wasn't as if you could not know as the elf screamed his lungs out most nights. Even though the lost sleep usually annoyed Elladan, he would never make the elf responsible. It wasn't as if one could stop nightmares and judging by the state they had found him in, this warrior had seen his fair share of cruel sights.

Elladan hesitated. Maybe he should go and get his Ada or Glorfindel. They usually took care of the nightmares. The twin sighed. His father and Glorfindel both deserved an uninterrupted night of sleep and he was already awake anyway.

Bowing his head against the door, Elladan listened to distressed whimpers and soft cries in a foreign language. Gently, Elladan knocked against the door. Quiet sobs were the only answer and more whimpering.

"Oh, blast it," Elladan muttered and pressed the door handle down. A gush of icy cold wind surprised him and Elladan saw that the window was opened widely, allowing natural light in as well as the cold air that carried some lone snowflakes.

"Nana, seas, Nana!" _Nana, please, Nana_! The whimpers caused Elladan to frown in shock. The wood elf was writhing in his bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. Sweat covered the young face.

"No, don't hurt my Nana! Don't kill her! Take me, seas, take me," the elf pleaded and fat tears glistered on his cheeks. The words made Elladan stop on his way to Penneth's side. They made him realise how little he knew about the young wood elf.

Carefully, Elladan eased himself to sit on the mattress. His hand gently reached out and he shook Penneth.

The warrior abruptly woke, jerking up and breathing quickly. Elladan knew the look in those blue eyes. This terrified look of a young warrior who tried as hard as he could to seem strong and unaffected. It shocked the older twin to see the elf succeed as slowly all evidence of angst drained from his face.

"I apologize for waking you, Lord Elladan. Forgive me," the elf spoke calmly and bowed his head.

Elladan could only stare at him. Only then the elf began to shiver did he jump to action. He stood and quickly shut the window, turning to take an additional blanket out of the cupboard and throwing it over the surprised elf.

The elf seemed uncomfortable sitting down while Elladan stood tall before him and the twin quickly sat down again. Penneth's hands were twisting the blanket.

"Your mother is dead," Elladan started, his eyes locked with blue counterparts. He did not phrase it as a question.

Slowly, the elf nodded as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He seemed totally unaffected by the terrifying dream he had had.

"How old were you?"

Penneth did not give up on his tense stance.

"Young," he answered reluctantly.

"How did she die?"

"Why do you care?" Penneth snapped.

"Because it still gives you nightmares."

"I apologize for waking you, Lord Elladan. I will attempt to dream more quietly in the future."

_Did that elf just apologize to him for being too loud while having nightmares? Elladan wondered._

"I want to help you here, Penneth. As does everyone else! Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?" Elladan asked, getting angry.

"Inherited, I'm afraid," Penneth answered dryly. "You do not like me, Lord Elladan. Nor does anyone else here. After all, what am I but a pathetic wild perhereg elf of the dark forest in the east? You think of us as uncivilised and dangerous. I do not understand the game you are playing but I will not betray my people. And my king won't give you what you seek in exchange for me."

"You are even dumber than I thought!" Elladan hissed angrily. "And is that really how you see yourself? Or how you think we see you? I tell you something: I do not know why but Glorfindel likes you a lot. He does not only call you gwador, he means it too. And my Ada is quite fond of you as well and only wants to help you. I had thought at least that would have finally gotten into that thick skull of yours. Honestly, I do not wish to ever meet your father. If you are that stubborn, he must be even worse! And why do you think I do not like you?"

Elladan stared at the wood elf with an angry glint in his eyes.

"You are always angry at me," Penneth answered smoothly. And took all the wind out of Elladan's sails. It was such a naïve answer. Such a childish outlook on the situation.

"Of course I am," he managed after a few seconds. "After all, you keep hurting yourself. I have lost count how often you tore these stitches of yours. You hurt Glorfindel and I do not only mean than you knocked him out. He wants to help you but you always refuse. I am not asking you to betray your people. Damn, I am not asking you about anything! I just want you to put a little trust in us! You keep hurting instead of letting us help. So yes, I am angry with you!"

Penneth did not look away and seemed untouched by the words.

Elladan waited for a minute before he bristled with anger and stood. He turned to the door and just made to reach for the handle.

"She was tortured to death," a quiet voice rang from behind his back. Elladan stopped. Slowly, he turned around. Penneth sat in his bed, his head hanging down and his hair hiding his features. And for the first time, he saw how Penneth was fighting with himself. He saw how Penneth attempted to force himself to mistrust them. The wood elf tried so hard but he was fighting a lost battle. Elladan realised that Penneth trusted them a lot more than they thought. He trusted them completely. The warrior had to forcibly hold back to not tell them everything that was laying so heavily on his heart. The older twin decided to never again put Penneth in a situation where he would have to fight to keep his mouth shut and to find harsh and painful words to keep them away. To torture the elfling so much was not fair.

With deliberately slow movements, Elladan returned to his side.

"I am sorry," he said and meant it. He took a tissue out of his outer robe and handed it to the elf who took it with a grateful mumble.

"It is the anniversary of her death today," Penneth said and in the next moment he hunched over, sobbing uncontrollably even though he tried to suppress it.

"You are not alone Penneth. You do not have to give away any secrets to accept some help. Do you want a hug?"

Penneth nodded barely perceivable and Elladan leaned forward to give the poor, heartbroken elf a hug.

* * *

Erestor entered the meeting room. He had been surprised then King Thranduil requested his presence. The half-elf had spent the night in a large, comfortable room. The only thing he had been missing was natural light but seeing as the entire castle lay within stone walls, he could hardly expect it. Two guards had stood before his door and he had not received his weapons back, otherwise he was treated politely as though he was a welcome guest. Halfway having expected to spend his time in some wet dungeon cell, Erestor was very satisfied with the situation.

He was already being expected. Mithrandir was present as well as the king and his children and the elf who had been present in the throne room. Additionally, two elves Erestor did not recognize eyed him warily.

Erestor had not even bowed before Thranduil put a map on the table between them.

"Which way?" He asked coldly. Stepping closer, Erestor saw it was a map of the Hidden Valley and the former lands of Eregion.

"My king, with all due respect, the Pass is blocked. Winter has set in and you will not be able to cross before spring," Erestor heard himself saying, having read the king's intention perfectly.

Princess Eyaenne straightened and she seemed to only now have thought of that fact. The elf captain however only looked sharply at his king.

"They shall not cross the mountains," Thranduil declared as if that was obvious.

"Going around the mountains will not get you to Imladris faster. It would be quicker if you waited for the snow to begin melting."

"They shall take the path through Hadhodrond," Thranduil declared coldly. Only his long life saved Erestor from showing his surprise.

"I doubt the dwarves will let any elf venture through their kingdom," he stated slowly.

"Ah," Thranduil maid, turning around and taking a wrapped little packet from one of the guards.

"But I have something they want!" Thranduil hissed, throwing the object on the table. Interested, Erestor unwrapped the leather around it. A soft gasp came over his lips as he saw one particular precious stone. It was a diamond, as big as Erestor's closed fist, shining red and emitting a reddish light. Erestor had read about stones like these, the most precious blood diamonds in all of Arda. However, never before had he actually seen one with his own eyes. This large one was perfect without a single impurity enclosed in the glass-like form.

"They will probably let you pass in return to this," Erestor relented, his eyes glued on the massive diamond.

"Dwarves?" Eyaenne asked and her voice trembled ever so slightly.

"Hadhodrond is a large dwarf city like no other. The dwarves call it Khazad-dûm and the Noldor call it Casarrondo. Built under the Caradhras or Redhorn, the Celebdil also known as Silvertine and the Fanuidhol, which is called Cloudyhead in the Common Tongue, the city spreads from one side of the mountain range to the other. First built by Durin I. in the beginning of the First Age, it has been enlarged ever since. They began trading with the elves of Ost-in-Edhil soon after Durin's folk started its work," Thranduil began pacing slowly, his hands behind his back. He watched his children intently, making obvious he expected them to listen carefully and file the information away in their memory. His speech was slow, deliberate and sharp. He did make a good teacher.

"In the year 1695 of the Second Age, the old Realm of Eregion was invaded by Sauron, the traitor. He wished to wrest the rings of power from the elvish smiths. Lord Elrond led a part of Lindon's army, sent by High King Gild-galad, to defend Eregion. In 1697, Eregion had fallen and Ost-in-Edhil was destroyed. Lord Elrond collected the survivors and retreated to the Hidden Valley where he founded his city. For three years, the dark forces sieged Imladris. The dwarves of Khazad-dûm - together with an army of elves from Lindon and the men of Númenor - followed the Peredhil's call for aid and fell into the enemies' back, successfully slaughtering them all. The dwarves of Durin's folk then joined the Last Alliance. They too fought at the steep flanks of Barad-dûr and returned to their halls after. Since then, they have lived unbothered. I do not know whether they still trade with elves." Thranduil nodded towards Erestor without looking at him.

"Mirkwood has not had good relations with any dwarves, however, they will lead you safely through their Realm if we pay with this." He took the diamond and weighed it in his hands. His blue eyes gleamed.

Erestor had heard about the king's greed for diamonds, gold and silver. And yet, the king did not even hesitate a single second to give away one of the most priced pieces only to get to Imladris earlier.

The Noldo leaned over the map.

"You should take this path, Princess Eyaenne, as soon as you leave through the northern door," he said and pointed on the map, focusing on the task at hand.

The princess leaned in and the captain quickly turned to put an oil lamp on the table to give them more light, before he too leaned in the see better.

"When will you depart?" Erestor asked interestedly after he had advised the Princess and the captain on the best path.

"Tomorrow," the captain said sharply, rolling the map up.

"Daeros, Arahen," Thranduil spoke to the twins. "Please show Lord Erestor around. He is our guest and I do not wish for him to get lost." The king spoke gently with the twins who seemed to be caught in a distant realm of dreams. Slowly only, their eyes focused.

"Of course, Ada," one of them answered.

* * *

"Are you sure you wish to accompany Roewen and me?" Eyaenne asked Methelion who quietly packed his small back, double checking if he had everything.

"I am," the elf answered calmly, looking up and giving Eyaenne a short smile. "Apparently, we are going to marry, so I should better take good care of you," he spoke with amused eyes and caused Eyaenne to laugh lightly. He winked cheekily.

"Let us go and see how Roewen is faring," he continued. Methelion had not met the Crown Prince's fiancée as of yet but he had heard she was not holding up very well. The king had warned him that it would be hard to travel with two she-elves who were both close to fading. Methelion however gladly took the new responsibility. He always took everything as it came along.

He followed Princess Eyaenne as she walked through the door leading to Roewen's quarters. It was dark inside. Quickly, the young Thranduiliell strode in, lighting candles and torches.

Methelion spotted Roewen. The she elf sat in a dark corner. Her eyes were wide and unseeing. The captain crouched down before her.

"Roewen." He had to call her name several times.

"Yes?" She finally answered.

"The king calls for your aid," Methelion spoke gently. A soft light re-entered the brown eyes.

"Help me up?" Roewen more asked than requested and Methelion grasped her elbows to pull her on her feet.

"What does the king need me for?"

"To save a life, Roewen," Methelion answered, letting go of her arms to leave her stand on her own.

* * *

The next morning, the two she-elves left the stronghold, accompanied by an alert Methelion and another soldier name Laethion. They left a worried king, who retreated with his sons and though he remained cool and aloof, his heart did not rest and the Valar could listen to his prayers all day long.

* * *

**_P**lease** review!_**

**Thanks to my beta-reader Jaxzan Proditur!**

**_Additional Information: _**_Everything what Thranduil said about Moria and the surrounding events is true. Only at the time this story takes place, the balrog has not awakened yet and the mines are not known under the name 'Moria'. For those of you who are interested in a timeline, here is what I took as a guideline. The bold events are confirmed by Tolkien's writing. The rest is completely made up and may be wrong:_

_Elladan is the older twin. Elrohir is the younger twin. **Both born year 130 T.A. (Third Age).**_

_Alcanor older, born in 102 T.A._

_Eyaenne born 120 T.A_

_Arahen born 132 T.A._

_Daeros born 134 T.A._

_Iarith born 155 T.A._

_Falin born 169 T.A._

_**Arwen born 241 T.A.**_

_King Thranduil comes to Imladris for negotiations in the year 375 T.A._

_Legolas born after first meeting - 611 T.A._

_Glorfindel and his patrol come to Mirkwood in the year 703 T.A._

_Legolas joined patrol age 250 - 861 T.A._

_Legolas comes to Imladris in 884 T.A. = Meets Elrond at the same age Alcanor had than Alcanor met Elrond at age 273_

_**Balrog awakens in Khazad-dûm 1980 T.A.**_

_**Celebrian sailed west 2510 T.A.**_

_Elves reach majority: Noldor law: 290 years_

_Mirkwood law: 250 years- Legolas is extraordinarily young to be a captain of a patrol. Only because he is skilled and the prince who gives everyone hope_

**Megan:** While I do think the Mirkwood elves are more powerful, the Noldor are wiser and bringing both of these points across is a bit difficult. I do want the Noldor to realise their weaknesses and therefore, while they might be impressed by Mirkwood's power, they are not actually surprised, because they had guessed as much. It is a bit of a tricky thing to write

**Guest1345:** What Legolas said was already translated than he first gave his message to Erestor, so that is not actually a surprise. Nothing hinting it is the youngest Prince of Mirkwood

**Guest#1:** What Legolas said was already translated than he first gave his message to Erestor, so that is not actually a surprise. Nothing hinting it is the youngest Prince of Mirkwood. About how to pronounce Eyaenne ... that is difficult to explain. I do know how I would speak it, writing in spoken souns is not only hard but differs greatly in the language. I would pronunce it 'Ei-ja-ehn' This way to write it probably won't make much sense to you however, because things such as 'ei' are pronunced diffrently in diffrent language. In german an iPod is pronunce EiPod, so Ei is english I, I guess ... you see, it is difficult to get across

**Guest#2:** Ah, but Thranduil does not know. And yet I hope you still enjoyed his reaction

**Guest#3:** Thanks for the compliments. Glad you love the story. Erestor is wise enough to not force the wood elves to trsut him as that would make them distrust him even more. Instead, he just accepts it and opens up.


	35. 35: A Mirkwood Brigade

"Elrond!" Glorfindel yelled, coming to an abrupt stop at the library door. The other elf looked up.

"What have they done?" Elrond asked, already wondering what the twins could have possibly gotten up to. "Or has Penneth torn his stitches again?"

"What?" Glorfindel asked, irritated. "No! We have guests."

"Guests? Where from?" Elrond asked interested, straightening up.

"Mirkwood," Glorfindel answered.

"Mirkwood? But the Pass is blocked!" Elrond said in surprise, dropping his quill and hurrying outside.

"I know. They just arrived a few minutes ago. I came to get you immediately. They are waiting in the courtyard."

"How many? Are they injured?" Elrond demanded as he hurried down the stairs.

"No, not as far as I could see. There are four. Including Princess Eyaenne Thranduilliell."

Elrond stopped for a second. That was unexpected. This early visit itself was unexpected! Wood elves! They never acted the way you thought they would! Penneth had only solidified Elrond's opinion of that fact.

The elf lord arrived at the courtyard. Four elves stood close together, their posture defensive but Elrond had already anticipated that. The two she-elves were dressed in heavy cloaks and wore gloves. The two male elves however only wore thin green cloaks over their armour, coloured white over their shoulder's by the falling snow.

As soon as Elrond stepped out, the attention of the travel-worn group shifted to him. Snow fell in thick flakes around them. Elrond recognized Roewen, the messenger, though her face was underlined with such sadness it broke Elrond's heart. She had lost someone and was fading. The elves grouped around a second she-elf who could be no one else but Eyaenne Thranduilliell. She had dark circles under her eyes and the same sadness etched in her features. It shocked Lord Elrond to see she was at the verge of fading as well. That explained why the two of them wore such thick clothing to ward off the cold.

The princess had long brown hair that was braided into an elegant plait. A male elf with similar brown hair stood protectively in front of her. His eyes were alert.

"Welcome to Imladris," Elrond greeted and bowed deeply.

"So you are the great Lord Elrond?" Princess Eyaenne retorted with scepticism in her voice.

"My Princess," the male elf in front of her whispered warningly with a reprimanding look.

"We had not expected anyone to come before spring. Forgive us. If you entrust your horses to our stable hands, they will be taken care of."

Slowly, the elves did as offered.

"May I welcome you into the house? The wind is harsh and I do not doubt after such a long journey through snow and wind you will welcome some rest. I will have rooms prepared for you within the hour."

"Thank you," Princess Eyaenne spoke after a short silence. "May I introduce myself: I am Eyaenne and you have already met Roewen. These are Captain Methelion and Leathion."

With obvious reluctance, the wood elves followed Lord Elrond inside. They walked lightly and their posture remained alert as if they expected to be attacked at any moment. The wise elf ignored it and simply led them to the Hall of Fire and quietly asked everyone present to leave. As this was a very unusual occurrence, no one refused or hesitated, though curious glances were send towards the wood elves who met them with determined, hard faces.

The elves hesitantly sat down after taking their cloaks off. However, they made no indication to take off their armour as well. Within minutes, warm, delicious food and sweet juices as well as warm milk was brought in. Elrond smiled softly as suddenly the attention of the wild elves before him shifted towards the food. Apparently, they had not eaten in a while.

Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel sat down opposite of the wood elves, watching them unobtrusively as they began to eat quickly and efficiently. While they were eating neatly, they did so too quickly to be perfectly polite. Not that either of the Noldor elf lords cared overly much.

Even though the elves were eating, one of them always kept the two Noldor in view and glanced around the room, Glorfindel noticed.

"Are you in need of medical aid?" Lord Elrond asked softly as soon as they were finished.

"No," Princess Eyaenne responded, sounding even more tired than before.

"We mean you no harm," Glorfindel spoke, noticing the stance these elves still took.

Princess Eyaenne met his blue eyes.

"I am inclined to even bloody believe you," she murmured and one of the male elves – Methelion – coughed slightly with an admonishing glance.

"Ah, shut it," the princess replied. Surprisingly enough, Methelion only chuckled darkly.

"What would the king say, my Princess?"

"He would disapprove. But if we are going to get married, you will have to get used to it, Methelion," Eyaenne smiled tiredly.

Methelion nodded his head in response and smiled shortly.

"May I ask how you managed to cross the High Pass in this weather?" Lord Elrond dared to ask, having watched the interaction with interest. Elrohir would be disappointed, he mused. The younger twin had taken a fancy at the Mirkwood Princess, despite only having met her twice.

"We did take the way through Hadhodrond. You call it Casarrondo. It was the quickest way."

"It has been a long time since the dwarves allowed an elf to enter their Realm," Elrond answered surprised. "I had not thought of this way."

"We paid generously for our passage," Eyaenne answered once more.

Again, uncomfortable silence entered the room.

"My Lord Elrond. I am inclined to believe your good will. For one, because I know Lord Erestor in Mirkwood and for the other, because there is nothing I could do were you not trustworthy. I have already walked into your house and most likely could be at your mercy should you wish to put me there. Therefore, I trust your word and assume you have not lied about housing one of our warriors. I do not feel the necessity to assure myself of Penneth's health just now. Instead, I would like to rest for the night before meeting him. No doubt he will have questions and right now I am not fit enough to answer him in the way he deserves to be answered. I am too tired to give him the attention he needs and I would rather leave him oblivious for a few more hours than force him to know we are here and yet to wait. However, I would still like to know how he is doing and if you have found out his name?"

"He has not given us his name, however, I would go so far to say he trusts us. It took a long time for him to do so, but now I believe he does. I consider him my gwador and my friend. He is a very intelligent and witty elf, though more bitter than I would wish for any young elf to be. He is loyal to your king and did not tell us anything. His wounds have been healing well, even though they will need several more weeks before he will be able to move normally again. As for his shoulder, it is unlikely he will be able to regain full function, as you probably already know. However, his nightmares have receded as well since he has begun talking about them," Glorfindel answered with a fond smile.

"He chose to trust you with the weight of his dreams?" Eyaenne asked.

"Yes, I was the one he spoke with about his nightmares," Glorfindel agreed, surprised about her choice of words.

"Alcanor respected you," Eyaenne began and the pain in her face intensified. A tear escaped Roewen's eyes and she buried her face in her hands as a sob left her. Eyaenne put a comforting arm round the female warrior while Methelion put a hand in a similar gesture on the princess' back. "I shall trust his judgement and do the same."

"Thank you," Elrond answered, his eyes moving between the two struggling she-elves. "Can I help you somehow?"

"No, my lord. My Prince has fallen into the shadows. He is gone and we suffer under his loss," Methelion answered instead of the Princess and stood. Laethion followed quickly.

"If you would excuse us now, my lords, we could do with some rest," the Captain bowed and spoke politely and yet firmly.

"Of course." Lord Elrond and Glorfindel stood as well.

"I shall show you to your rooms if you are agreeable. Breakfast is served at eight in the morning. While I would be delighted to welcome you at my table, please do not feel obliged to join us should you wish to rest for longer. Your rooms are close to the Entrance Hall; the Dining Room is just through here," Elrond spoke and pointed towards a small door in the back of the hall.

The wood elves took their cloaks and followed the two Noldor elves, their stance - despite their words of trust and respect - still tense.

Soon after, the Glorfindel and Elrond bid their good nights and the Mirkwood elves closed the door of their shared room behind them. While the servants had prepared four rooms, Elrond had made sure the elves could comfortably reside in the same room. He had been certain the elves would prefer to stay together and he had remained correct. Preparing the other rooms had been more of a sign of respect than anything else.

"That went surprisingly well, did it not?" Glorfindel asked and signed a breath of relief.

"Indeed," Elrond signed, feeling drained. Slowly, they returned to the Entrance Hall. Elrond looked through the glass windows and saw white snow falling in the darkness.

"How did it go?" A soft voice asked and they turned to see Celebrian. Elrond walked over to her and kissed her gently before pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Rather well, I guess," he answered after retreating again, his arm still wrapped around his wife's middle.

"Penneth will be delighted to meet them. I know he missed his home immensely. I only wish good fate on this elfling," Celebrian spoke. She had grown attached to Penneth very quickly, even though the young warrior kept himself away from her for some unknown reason. Celebrian suspected that she reminded him of his mother who they knew had died.

A smile came to Elrond's face.

"I can't wait to see Penneth's face as soon as he sees them," he agreed with his wife.

"We should not say anything and just surprise him. However, we should warn the twins," Glorfindel declared.

"Well, then, I will call it a night. I will see you at breakfast. Have a good night, my friends," Glorfindel smiled and left.

* * *

Thranduil stood in front of the cell, his arms crossed over his silver tunic. Blue eyes stayed fixed on the unmoving figure of Orc-Alcanor. The orc was asleep and for a few moments the king was able to pretend it was his son lying there. Exhausted but healthy and whole. The orc closed his eyes while he was sleeping. The creature did not seek the starlight and the elvish dreams by leaving his eyes open during his rest.

The figure shifted and Thranduil straightened, preparing himself for the onslaught of vicious screams that was sure to come. Orc-Alcanor shifted again and then his eyes opened. They met Thranduil's blue counterparts in an instant. A gasp escaped the king's lips and his heart skipped a beat. His crossed arms fell to his sides. The eyes meeting his were of a bright silver.

"Ad-" Alcanor attempted to say but before he could finish, blood seemed to flood his orbs, turning them back to the reddish glow of the orc. The creature jumped to its feet and began raging, shouting words in the dark tongue. This time, they bounced off of Thranduil, entirely unaffected. Instead, the tall elf struggled to breath properly.

"Alcanor," he whispered, stepping closer to the cell. His eyes stared at the beast in front of him.

"You are still there," Thranduil realised. For several moments, the king stood there, staring at the raging creature. Then he turned abruptly.

"Mithrandir!" he yelled, even though the wizard was nowhere close by. The hope in his chest felt so foreign it seemed to nearly suffocate him.

"Mithrandir!" he yelled again, this time more quietly. The wizard would have to find a way. Thranduil did not care how much it would cost. The wizard would have to find a way and if Thranduil had to drag the grey Istar all along the path.

Thranduil marched up the stairs, his eyes glistening.

"Where is the wizard?" He demanded to know so coldly, the elf he had just confronted gaped at him.

"Speak quickly," Thranduil threatened with a low, dangerous voice.

"In the library, my king," the elf answered and bowed. Thranduil left before the elf straightened up again.

Long strides led him back down. He passed the level of the dungeons, going deeper and deeper. Here, the corridors were barely lit by light but the light that did reach them was white and seemed to come directly from the stars instead from oil lamps and torches. The corridors and halls were vast, a monument proving of elvish art and – to Thranduil's dismay – dwarvish skill.

"Mithrandir!" He declared loudly upon pushing the big doors open.

His sharp ears picked up on the distant sound of shuffling robes. Quickly, Thranduil strode through the massive caverns of the underground library, ignoring the many volumes and the heavy tomes in the high shelves

"What brings you here, King Thranduil?" Mithrandir asked as soon as he spotted the tall, silver clad figure approaching him.

"What exactly are you doing down here?" Thranduil asked coldly. The wizard scanned the king's fair features. The sorrow, that had ruled his life for so many weeks now, had finally dimmed. Instead, he stood tall again, not in kingly necessity or for the sake of his children but on his own.

"Speak!" Thranduil urged softly. His bored tone was betrayed as a lie by the pure fact that Thranduil had bothered coming all the way down here.

"I am researching," Gandalf answered, grumbling slightly into his long beard. He gestured towards the many opened scrolls on the table before him. "I believe … I believe, Prince Alcanor's soul is trapped in his body by the Darkness, oppressed and powerless. His soul cannot fade. I am looking for a way to drive the darkness out so that your son can cross the borders to land of the death and join Mando's Halls." Brown eyes watched the king carefully.

"You believe he is a slave?" Thranduil clarified and deflated slightly. The sorrow returned tenfold. The façade on his face hiding the scars flickered for a few seconds.

Slowly, the Istar nodded, gently leading the elf he had known for so long to take a seat.

"He is still in there, Mithrandir. I saw him. He woke and it was my son looking at me."

"You saw him?" Mithrandir asked with furrowed brow. That was … unexpected. He would have thought it impossible.

"What will happen if you find a way to drive the Darkness away? Would it not be possible for him to regain his body and rule over it once more? Are you sure he would fade instead of clinging to life?"

"I … am not sure. I hope so, however I know too little to know if that is even a possibility."

"Mithrandir. Do you hope?"

"Yes, I do."

"Have you found anything so far?"

"I am afraid not. However, I have gained more insight into this Darkness ruling your forest. I believe this will help me as well."

"It happened before, you know?" Thranduil mused, his eyes musingly drifting over the books. "Not to this extend, mind you. I held Alcanor in my arms and suddenly I felt the Darkness leave his body, amongst the very heart of our Realm. I felt how it left him pure and innocent. Apparently, it happened before as well. He said the Darkness affected him and it drained is spirit. Being here purged him again."

"Not being here," Gandalf spoke, suddenly sounding thoughtful. "Being in your arms, Thranduil! Correct me if I am wrong, but you had not held him in many years before that."

"Do you want me to just walk into his cell and hug this creature?" Thranduil asked sceptically, but clearly willing to risk it should Mithrandir think it would help.

"No, I am afraid that would not work. But you gave me an idea, my king. Let me see …" And with that the wizard pulled several tomes closer to him, forgetting Thranduil's presence. Thranduil watched the old wizard.

"Please help, Mithrandir," his heart whispered though his lips remained sealed.

* * *

"Good morning!" Glorfindel greeted with a massive smile on his face. His eyes shone brightly and with a childish joy.

"Well, aren't you happy?" Legolas drawled sarcastically. "What did I miss?"

Glorfindel laughed.

"No need to be suspicious, Penneth. We just got a surprise for you, that is all."

"Please tell me the twins did not dress up as a horse again," Legolas dreaded, shuddering exaggeratedly.

"Fear not, my friend, they have nothing to do with it."

"Well, then, what is it?" Legolas demanded to know, grabbing the railing with his good hand and leaned on it on his way down the stairs. His side had improved a lot, even though his limping had yet to vanish. He winced with each step. His sleeplessness had not helped his healing process any.

His arm was still tied to his chest, however, Elrond had promised to take the bandages off today and have a look whether or not a second surgery would help. Legolas looked forward to it and dreaded it at the same time. He had no idea what he was supposed to do should if there was no hope that he could never bear a weapon again.

"Patience, my young gwador," Glorfindel laughed.

Legolas quirked an eyebrow but a slight smile revealed his amusement over Glorfindel's so obvious good mood.

Ever since he had his midnight talk with Elladan, Legolas felt so much more relaxed. The Noldor elves stopped asking questions he was not allowed to answer, courtesy of Lord Elladan now doubt, who had realised how much their questions pained Legolas as he struggled to keep quiet. The youngest Prince of Mirkwood had since given up trying to distance himself. Instead he dared to trust Lord Glorfindel and Elrond with his demons. Lord Elrond had sat patiently through Legolas' detailed and often interrupted report about his patrol. It had felt good to talk with the healer about his guilt towards his friends who had died because and for him. Lord Elrond did not judge but unlike the twins he seemed to understand that he could not take the guilt away and so he did not even try. And unlike Glorfindel he did not attempt to help him with well-meant advice or tried to get him to see the situation from the perspective of his dead friends to make him understand that they would not blame him for his decisions like his nightmares wanted to make him believe. He just listened quietly, always attentive.

"Hello, there!" Two voices sounded in unison from behind. Legolas did not bother to turn around; he had grown accustomed to the twins turning up at every corner. They knew how to sneak up on someone, Legolas had to give them that.

"Do you know what the surprise is?" Legolas asked instead.

"What surprise?" Elladan frowned.

"Do not tell us there is a surprise happening without us knowing!" Elrohir turned to Glorfindel.

"Well, I wanted to tell you last night, however, it seems someone was busy building naked snow elleths in the garden," Glorfindel answered with an amused smirk.

"Told you they'd know it was us," Elladan growled at his brother. Legolas laughed.

They arrived at the foot of the stairs and Legolas turned to the dining room. He stopped in his track. Someone was hovering in the doorway, obviously uncomfortably so. Someone he recognized. His breath caught in his throat and tears pricked in his eyes. He could not breath anymore. His fingers began shaking.

"Roewen," he whispered, apparently loud enough to reach the on-guard she-elf. Roewen twirled around. Her eyes widened, she gasped and she raised her hands to her mouth in shock.

* * *

**_Please review!_**

**Thanks to my beta-reader Swallow-tailed Kite and Jaxzan Proditur!**

**Megan: **Yeah, you are right! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite the admittingly rather mean cliffie :D

**Guest#1: **If there is gonna be a love triangle it will only be a sidepart of the story. Thanks for your feedback. I am glad that scene with Elladan talking to Legolas turned out alright, I wasn't too sure about that one at first

**Guest#2: **Yes, I am evil (and hopefully still amazing)

**Guest#3: **Honestly ... I do not know. Did I write that? You don't recall where by any chance? I do not actually know which one of those two is older ... They look like twins but are not, that is what I know, and I decided on a very small age diffrence, but which one is older? No idea. Things like that should be written down the moment I mention them. That is actually one of my big issues (also hair or eyecolour, or scars in certain places. If I don't write that stuff down, blue eyes turn silver, brown hair black and a scar appears on the left side in one chapter, and in the next on the right side. I am horrible with stuff like that)


	36. 36: Can you understand?

Legolas stood frozen for two seconds before he rushed over to his brother's fiancée. The she-elf dropped her hands than he was coming closer, holding them open to offer him an embrace. Legolas, desperate for the hug she offered, drew her into his healthy arm, holding her so tight he was probably hurting her. He closed his eyes and lowered his head to rest against her shoulder. In the next moment the emotions, the fear of never being able to return home, the worry for his family, his anxiousness about the new surroundings, it all broke free. A strangled scream escaped his lips. His body was shaking badly. His heart seemed to bleed inside his chest and he lost all sense of what was happening around him.

Gently, Roewen wrapped both arms around his frame, disbelieving shock written clearly all over her face. She lovingly brushed over Legolas' hair. Tears escaped her eyes while she held the elf who she had known for so many years and who she had thought dead. She, too, closed her eyes. Legolas' right arm, still tied to his chest, was pressed painfully against her body but Roewen could not have cared any less. Legolas had never been just her best friend's little brother, had never been just her fiancée's brother either. The elf had always been dear to her heart for his own sake and believing him dead had affected her soul as well.

Glorfindel and the twins watched the scene before them with interest. It was obvious Penneth knew Roewen, for the two were clinging to each other as if life depended on it. A sad smile and a frown adored Glorfindel's features as he watched his gwador finally able to let go of his worries.

Meanwhile, Princess Eyaenne had turned as soon as she had heard Roewen gasp. Quickly walking further towards the door, she froze as well. Her eyes widened and she paled drastically.

It couldn't be. Her eyes must be deceiving her. It could not be. And yet, it was Tithen-las. It was Legolas. It was her baby brother.

"It's impossible," she murmured weakly, not noticing how her legs threatened to give way underneath her. Methelion, who had stood next to her with an equally shocked expression on his face, turned to her. He watched as Princess Eyaenne wrapped her arms around her own torso in an attempt to comfort herself. Quickly, he put an arm around her hips to keep her upright.

"Methelion?" She asked weakly, still staring at Tithen-las. "Please … is it … is … Methelion, please …"

"It is, my Princess," Methelion struggled to reply, easily reading her question. His voice was a rough whisper, barely audible. "It's your brother. It is our Prince. My eyes see it as well."

The legs gave away underneath Princess Eyaenne. Methelion quickly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back on her feet. Eyaenne whimpered softly. He pulled her closer to himself, now hugging her to steady her. He shifted so she could continue to watch her baby brother over his shoulder who was standing in a similar position in the doorway with Roewen. He felt how she wrapped her arms around him. Soft, confused and shocked words were whispered in his ear. Methelion ignored them, knowing they were not directed at him anyway. So he just stood there, with his back to his Prince, so that the she-elf in his arms could continue to stare at her brother with awe in her eyes.

Laethion had reacted the quickest. A faint smile was playing around his lips as he now kneeled, bowing his head.

"Calid-amdir," the elf spoke loud and clearly, however, Legolas seemed not to hear it through his muffled screams and sobs.

Methelion held Eyaenne upright until she patted his back to signal him she would be able to stand on her own. Quickly, the captain withdrew.

Legolas kept his face pressed against Roewen's shoulder. He felt exhausted. And he felt save. For the first time in many months. He lessened his bruising grip on the she-elf a bit and murmured an apology.

"Oh, Tithen-las," Roewen whispered, gently ruffling his now so short hair. She kissed his cheek and Legolas could feel the tears on her face as well.

"Please stay," Legolas asked quietly.

"I am not going anywhere. I'll stay with you. It is alright. I shall take you home, Tithen-las. I will take you home, I swear," Roewen promised.

Someone shakily tapped Legolas shoulder. Only slightly raising his head, refusing to let go of Roewen, Legolas looked up. His blue eyes met silver ones, framed by long, curly brown hair. Legolas could do nothing but stare at his sister, slowly turning towards her. Princess Eyaenne stood before him and she gently placed a hand against his cheek.

"Eyae," Legolas realised hoarsely, letting go of Roewen and instead hugging his sister. Eyaenne sighed deeply and pulled Legolas protectively against her chest. She kissed his temple and carded through his hair.

"I swear," she began after a moment of pause. "If you do that to me ever again, I will bloody well lock you in the dungeons for the next hundred years for frightening me!"

Weakly, Legolas nodded his head, unable to say anything as tears had once again taken him over. Eyaenne relaxed, closed her eyes and smiled.

"My Princess," Methelion's urgent voice caused them to slowly pull apart, though Eyaenne took Legolas by the hand the way she did than he was a little child and was scared.

Legolas felt so drained, he did not look around. He knew, Eyaenne would handle the situation with the Noldor for him. He could trust her and just ignore it all. Therefore, he simply closed his eyes and leaned against the frame of the door, not letting go of Eyae's hand. Just letting all responsibility drain from his body. It was such a relief. He had grown to trust them but he still had been on alert almost constantly. Now … now he was free again. His sister was here. She would take care of everything.

The Princess however, looked around. She quickly dried her tears. Lord Glorfindel kept smiling and he seemed happy for her brother, nothing else. Lord Elrohir was obviously addled, his eyes wandering from her to Methelion to Legolas. It seemed he attempted to figure out in which relationship the two male elves stood with her. Lord Elladan had his arms crossed and seemed irritated.

For one moment, Eyaenne was unsure how to react. She shifted to stand in front of Legolas, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Lord Elladan, I believe we never officially met. May I introduce myself: I am Princess Eyaenne of Mirkwood. I am glad to see you uninjured this time," Eyaenne started, deciding it was a safe bet to just greet them all.

"It is good to see you again, as well, Lord Elrohir. Though little time has passed since our last meeting, much has happened in the meantime. It is good to … alright, forget it. Just, why the hell are all of you bloody staring at me?" Eyaenne lost it, giving up on her practiced and yet disliked formality as all eyes shifted to her and widened in surprise and awe.

Methelion coughed slightly, a knowing smile on his lips.

"You are glowing, my Princess. I believe that might be it," he spoke teasingly. Finding out their youngest prince was still alive had them all in silent ecstasy and happiness, letting them forget their mistrust towards the Noldor for a moment.

"Shit!" She cursed, more because of surprise than actually meaning the word. She was indeed glowing. Like a bloody beacon in the night! Her inner light, almost diminished before, had erupted from her body as she had finally accepted that it was truly her baby brother standing next to her. It had now settled around her like a silver sphere. She had not even noticed until Methelion had pointed it out.

"How do I switch that damn thing off?" She wondered, turning and twisting with no result.

Methelion chuckled.

"Close your eyes," the captain of Ravenstone Outpost ordered. "And then, pull it in. Keep it where it belongs: Enveloping you like a second skin, only emitting a soft light instead of an entire sea of torches."

"Haha, very funny, Methelion," Eyaenne spoke, unconsciously looking over to her brother who had not reacted in any way. Seeing Legolas had caused her soul to mend. She could feel it. She felt whole again and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying. Quickly, she drew her light inside until it was just hovering softly around her body. The Noldor did not have to know just how much Legolas meant for her. She was determined to keep him safe. Eyaenne hoped they did not already know, considering how they all had reacted upon seeing Legolas alive.

"Do they know who you are?" Eyaenne asked in Silvan.

"At least not until an hour ago," Legolas replied softly.

"I will let you go, brother, but I will stay close. Stick to Roewen. Take her hand. She will protect you the way I would and the Noldor will think she is closer to you than I am. I do not want them to know who you are until we are back in Ada's palace."

Eyaenne let go of Legolas' hand. She felt dread close in on her and had to force herself to not turn around just to make sure Legolas was still there. Her hand felt cold all of the sudden.

Legolas eyes flew open and he straightened up. For just one moment, a haunted look crossed his features before he once again schooled his emotions.

Methelion, who spoke Silvan fluently despite being a Sinda himself, had understood the short conversation and unobtrusively pushed Roewen towards his young prince. Roewen did not speak the tongue of the wood people, however she just went along with it. Legolas took her hand without hesitation and Roewen brushed over his cheek, still not quite trusting her eyes. It was disturbing to see the Prince acting like a child while at the same time his facial expression showed he was anything but.

The captain noticed how Princess Eyaenne's hands shook slightly and without thinking he grasped her hand. She looked at him surprised and smiled shortly. Methelion noticed how Lord Elrohir was looking at him darkly. Confusedly, he returned the glance. Lord Elrohir's grim expression turned even darker and Methelion snapped back on alert. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed at the display they had just given the Noldor.

"Breakfast?" Methelion suggested sharply, changing the atmosphere in the room.

"Of course," Lord Glorfindel smiled.

A few minutes afterwards, the wood elves sat at with Lord Elrond's family and Glorfindel. No one spoke what made for an uncomfortable silence and cluttering cutlery. Lord Elrond had smiled warmly upon seeing them enter together. His eyes had quickly fallen to Roewen's and Legolas' entwined hands and a curious spark had lit up his features. Eyaenne decided she had made the right decision to have her best friend take care of her brother. Her baby brother. Legolas was alive. She still could not quite believe it. She watched her brother as he ate.

"I am glad you have some more company now, Penneth," Glorfindel spoke first. Legolas glanced up and smiled thinly.

"Thank you, gwador," he answered.

The few words did not initiate a conversation and therefore breakfast was a quiet affair.

"If you'd allow, Lord Elrond, we would retire to our room for a few hours. There is much that needs to be discussed among us. I hope you do not mind if we take up your hospitality for a few more days at least," Princess Eyaenne spoke after they had all finished.

"I do not mind at all. However, I would like to have a look on Penneth's shoulder later on if that is alright with you," Lord Elrond formulated carefully.

The wood elves thanked and stood. Elrond, Celebrian, the twins and Glorfindel watched how Penneth left the room with his people.

"Do you know who he is?" Elrond asked as soon as they had left.

"He seems to know Roewen quite well," Glorfindel answered with his lips twitching in a smile, not meeting Elrond's gaze but instead focusing on his goblet with water.

"I did not hear them using his real name either," Elladan added. "When did they arrive? And who were the other two?"

"Captain Methelion and Laethion," Elrond answered his son. With a glance to Elrohir, he added: "Captain Methelion is Princess Eyaenne's fiancée."

"What!" Elrohir asked shocked and seemed downtrodden. He opened and closed his mouth several times without any words coming.

"I am sorry, Elrohir. I know you liked her. But you barely knew her anyway," Celebrian stated gently. Elrohir just stood and left the room.

* * *

"Eyaenne!" A call stopped the group of wood elves who had just reached their room. Lord Elrohir came running down the corridor. He seemed agitated.

"Wait!" He called.

Methelion and Leathion both stepped forward as one person. Leathion's hand rested on the hilt of his weapon as Methelion grabbed the Elrondion by the collar and harshly held him back.

"In case you have not noticed," the dark haired elf hissed. "You are talking to our Princess. Now, step away!"

"Let go of me!" Elrohir growled and yanked free, staring at Methelion with angry eyes while the other elf just stared back with a neutral facial expression.

"What is it?" Eyaenne asked, keeping behind the two warriors.

"I wish to speak to you," Elrohir bit out.

"Go ahead," Eyaenne allowed.

"Alone," Elrohir added with a glance to the guards between them.

"Not going to happen," Methelion refused.

"I did not speak to you, Captain," Elrohir replied as arrogantly as he could.

"It's alright," Princess Eyaenne agreed slowly. "I can handle him. Get inside. He is unarmed."

"My Princess, need I remind you what happened the last time you were alone in his presence? You will not be with this Noldo alone!" Methelion disagreed harshly.

"Leathion, you stay with me, the rest of you, go! Are you happy now, Methelion?" The Princess compromised.

Methelion huffed but nodded. He leaned to Leathion and shortly whispered with him before he slowly stepped back. He put a hand on Legolas' shoulder to lead him into the room. Roewen followed and the Captain of Ravenstone Outpost closed the door behind them.

"What did you want to speak about, Lord Elrohir?"

"You got engaged," Elrohir replied sadly.

"What?" Eyaenne asked confusedly. What the hell was Elrohir talking about! Of course she did not get engaged! It wasn't as if she had a boyfriend or anything.

"You got engaged with Methelion. What about us, Eyaenne?" Elrohir demanded to know.

Ah, of course. That joke Falin had come up with and both Eyaenne and Methelion had kept going: That they were going to get married. Had they joked around the Noldor like that? They must have. She really liked the elf captain. It was his calmness and strength she could rely on and he was so easy to get along with. She trusted him as a very dear friend even though they had only known each other for a few short weeks. It was possible they had joked around for a minute or two.

"There is no _us_, Elrohir," Eyaenne gainsaid. "There never was an _us_."

"But you … we … we kissed, Eyaenne," Elrohir dissented.

"Yes and where did that leave me?" Eyaenne mocked slightly but eased her temper as she saw she hurt the elf in front of her with her words.

"Elrohir," she started again. "It was mistake. We were in a battle. That kiss happened in the heat of the moment. I should never have allowed it to happen in the first place. You don't know me. And I do not know you. At all. We live far away. Are children of two leaders who do not get along very well. How could you think there ever was a chance for us?"

"We could try. I could come to Mirkwood and –"

Eyaenne snorted.

"Elrohir, you would not last a year. You might be a warrior and a decent one at that but you have never had to fight before in your life, have you? Not like we do. We are not fighting battles. We are fighting a war. We do not rest. We do not stop. We do not take breaks. We fight to save our home. If you were to come to Mirkwood, I do not doubt you would give your best and I do not doubt you would be of enormous help to us as well. But we fight for our home. You would be fighting for me, or for my people. You would be of great help, yes. But you would not be able to live like that. The strain is too great. Even my people are close to crumbling. How should anyone but my people be able to survive it? No one can endure such pain and misery if it is not for your home. Be glad you do not have to."

"Why do you think I would not be able to? I am a warrior just like you. I have fought in battles. I would not give up."

"I do not doubt that, Elrohir. But you would not know what you are fighting for. You have never seen the beauty Greenwood the Great was. You will most likely not be able to see the beauty the wild parts of Mirkwood hold. Even we struggle to do so. And yet, this beauty is all that keeps us going and alive. No elf who does not love Mirkwood the way we do will ever be able to understand. The Darkness never effected your soul. Be glad for it. All I am saying is: You would not last. A few weeks, a few months, maybe even a year. But not a lifetime. You will never be able to understand me in that way. And that understanding is the most important thing there is in this world for me! I will follow my father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, to the very end. And the elf by my side needs to understand that and do the same thing. I need him to feel the same way. I need him to be my strength then I am about to fail. I need him to love my country, my traditions and my people the same way I do. I need him to be by my side at all costs. I need him to understand my Silvan heritage, to understand my language, to understand my contact with the forest and to understand my pain. I need him to understand my heart, Elrohir. And you can't do that. Maybe I am too picky. But that is who I am. I need a wood elf by my side, not because I think lower of Noldor, but because he needs to be my missing half and I am perhereg. I am a Thranduiliell. I need someone who can understand my troubles. And you just can't."

"How do you know? If you never give me a chance you could not possibly know!"

"My heart belongs to the forest, Lord Elrohir. And you do not know the forest. You do not know me. And I do not know you. I am fighting not only a war for my home but for my soul as well. Too many of my friends have died. Of my family have died. Do you understand my pain, Lord Elrohir? Do you understand how it feels if your soul gets ripped into pieces?"

Elrohir swallowed.

"No," he finally said, his throat thick with emotions. "I do not."

Eyaenne nodded.

"You will find your heart one day, Lord Elrohir. But it is not I who carries it. And then you do, you will understand why I refused you. I wish you all the good luck in the world."

Elrohir looked heartbroken and Eyaenne did feel sorry for him. She pitied him.

"Anything else?" She asked. Elrohir just shook his head in defeat. The princess nodded and turned around. She entered their room and Leathion followed her. The door clicked and was locked from the inside.

* * *

**Please review!**

**A big thanks to my beta reader Jaxzan Proditur!**

**Uni has resumed and my timetable is full. I got a lot of very demanding subjects. I know this point at the story has been long anticipated but please excuse me if I take longer for updates. I will of course attemp to stick to the two weeks, but I just can't promise and uni is very important this year and, as I said, demanding in both time and concentration. I will continue this story and not abandon anything! It may just take a bit longer for updates**

**Rita Orca:** I thought about adding a few chapters of Eyaenne's journey to Mirkwood, but I really did not feel like writing that and drawing everything out even more, so I decided to just let them arrive and only mention their journey briefly

**Guest#1:** It would be too easy, now, would it not? But yes, finally, I have some other wood elves in Imladris

**Guest#2:** Well, you did nt have to survive three weeks. It has only been two :D

**Megan:** Let me think... ahm ... nope :D

**Violet:** Yes, I did not feel like writing about the journey. I just wanted to get them to Imladris. Now! :D And I guess I won't give a spoiler if I say no, it will not

**Guest#3:** Well, yes, you know, I just felt challenged by your last review and I had to top it with my awesome cliffhanger :D Oh, and thanks a lot for finding that out :D I will attempt to correct one of the two times. I think Arahen should be older. I have written it down now, but I do not know when I'll find the time to change it

**Guest1345:** Always happy to hear back from you! Hope you enjoyed your break, everyone deserves them. And thanks for leaving reviews so often! They make my day :D

**Scathach47:** Yay! I missed your comments :D Thanks for dropping a review and I am glad you enjoyed the last few chapters. YOu got yourself quite a few minutes of reading time and no wait in between :D


	37. 37: Shadows of the Past

As soon as the door closed behind her, Elrohir was forgotten. Eyaenne grabbed her brother and pulled him once again into a tight embrace.

"I thought you were dead, Legolas. We all thought you were dead," Eyaenne sniffled.

Legolas did not say anything but Eyaenne felt him shiver.

"How is it you are alive?" She asked, pulling away and sitting down on one of the beds, pulling Legolas down to sit next to her.

"I have no idea," Legolas replied tiredly. He leaned his forehead against Eyaenne's arm, grasping her hand with both of his.

"We went south of the border," Legolas began after several minutes of silence. Methelion, Leathion and Roewen sat down nearby and listened carefully as Legolas sketched what happened with a few sentences. He explained how Merion had gotten injured, how he himself had gotten an arrow through his side. He talked about how his soldiers had been slaughtered and how Eriandras had saved his life. He mentioned the tree that had introduced itself as _Greenwood_ and how he had ended up in Imladris. It took an hour until his tale had finished.

"But we found your body," Eyaenne shivered. "We found your body, Legolas. We buried you."

"You buried Merion. He lost his pack and weapons in the river. I was injured and could not make use of either. Eriandras gave Merion my spare tunic and my weapons," Legolas explained. "How is Ada? Eyaenne, how is Ada?"

"He is alive, Legolas. He will be so happy to see you again. All of us will. Your death … it nearly broke us."

"I want to go home," Legolas pronounced, his face torn into a grimace. "Please, Eyaenne, take me home."

"I will, muindor. Don't you dare think I would allow you to go anywhere else. We leave as soon as we can." _Brother_.

Princess Eyaenne did not let go of her brother until Lord Elrond knocked against the door, asking for Legolas to come to the healing ward. Reluctantly, the female warrior detached herself from her brother, kissing his forehead before accompanying him to the healing ward. The others followed without hesitation.

* * *

Elrond nodded in satisfaction and cleaned his hands. Penneth was sitting on one of the beds in the healing ward. On his undressed torso, the marks of his painful past were clearly visible in the form of scars and still healing wounds. Princess Eyaenne stared at the wounds with wide eyes and Roewen had had to turn away as soon as Elrond had taken the bandages off. The healer had to admit: It was not a pretty sight. The wounds had healed well enough, especially considering that Penneth had suffered under severe nightmares for so long and had therefore been sleep deprived for weeks, but they still had ways to go.

Penneth looked up, a hopeful question written clearly in his face.

"Can you help him?" Princess Eyaenne voiced said question.

"I do not know," Elrond admitted, wanting to dim the hope as to not to disappoint in the end. "There is a chance a second surgery would help but I cannot promise anything. Even if the surgery goes according to plan, it might not be enough to return full control. However, I am quite certain I can at very least improve his shoulder. The wounds have healed well enough and now that the swelling has finally retreated it was a lot easier to examine his shoulder."

"When can you operate?" Princess Eyaenne asked.

"As soon as tomorrow. However, only if Penneth wants me to." Elrond looked down at the young warrior.

Princess Eyaenne snorted and rolled her eyes.

"I believe that is not even a question," Penneth replied with an easy smile on his lips.

"You must take into consideration that it will stop you from travelling for another few weeks," Elrond reminded, his arms crossed as he looked down. Almost instantly, a shadow crossed Penneth's features.

They still did not know his name. The wood elves rarely used a name to speak to him and then they did, the two males used 'calid-amdir' and the two she-elves referred to him as either 'Tithen-las' or 'squirrel'. However, it did not even seem as if they did it on purpose. Elrond however had stopped worrying about it. What did a name matter after all? All that was important to him was that Penneth had changed since the four wood elves had arrived. He was more relaxed, more balanced and much more hopeful. He seemed happy.

Penneth looked over to his comrades.

"Fix his shoulder," Princess Eyaenne answered tensely. She seemed unsure if her decision was right.

"What about …?" Penneth left the question open but even Elrond could tell he was worried about his family back in Mirkwood and most importantly his Ada.

"He'll hold on, squirrel," Roewen replied gently and yet a frown marred her face.

"We can't cross the mountains anyway. And we have no second diamond with us to pay the dwarves for a passage back," Methelion threw in from his place at the window. He stared out, watching the snow subsiding on the already thick white blanket that covered the land. "Before spring, we cannot return home either way."

His interjection erased the traces of guilt of the others.

"Lord Elrond. How long does your offer stand for us to remain at your home?" Princess Eyaenne asked. This was one of the things so common for the wood elves. They would just openly ask questions like this without hesitation. No Noldor would dare to be so blunt.

"My home is open to you as long as you desire. I'd be happy to have you remain as my guests for as long as you want to," Elrond found himself assuring them twice.

The healer redressed all wounds and then handed the green shirt back to the elf warrior.

"I will prepare everything. Do not eat breakfast tomorrow. Instead, come here directly after you wake up," Elrond spoke.

"Thank you," Penneth spoke, struggling to put his shirt back on. Princess Eyaenne quickly helped him before indicating he should rise. Together, the wood elves left the healing ward.

* * *

Eyaenne led the group back to their room but only to grab their cloaks before heading outside. She did not feel comfortable in the house. The Noldor seemed to watch their every step and they were so obviously keen to find out who their guest was. And she did not like how close they had apparently come to Legolas, the ease with which they spoke to him. If she was honest with herself: She was scared. She had just found out her little baby brother lived. Now, she was scared these Noldor would take him away again. She would not survive it if that happened. They must not know who Legolas was! They must stay away from them, keep their distance. Legolas seemed to understand her feelings as he did not protest despite the fact he did not agree with her. Instead, he allowed her to do what she thought was right and necessary. This alone proofed how much he had suffered this last few months. Normally, he would have discussed with her, trying to reason for what he thought was the best way to handle a situation. This time he just surrendered to Eyaenne's will without so much as reluctance.

Legolas had an impossible affinity towards the trees; his connection with them unique. Alcanor was sometimes able to hear the thoughts of other people as if they were spoken words. Falin could walk through the world with his eyes closed and still sense everything around him to allow perfect footing. Daeros and Arahen seemed to share a link that allowed them to understand each other without words. Iarith had always been gifted in capturing the beauty of the forest in her art, understanding how to bring the essence of the forest into the piece and allow everyone to see her emotions through it. It seemed all of Thranduil's children had a gift, a unique gift. Eyaenne had a gift as well. Sometimes, without wanting or seeking to, she could see what had happened in the past. She would see shadowy figures moving in between the now and here, could hear whispered words, not with her ears but with her mind, and would be able to see what had happened many years in the past. Usually, this only happened if she had an emotional connection to one of the involved parties.

Stepping out of the house, Eyaenne stopped dead in her tracks, causing Legolas to stumble into her. With wide eyes, she stared at the shadowy figures on the courtyard. Two forms were especially visible. Her eyes widened upon realising just what she was seeing. Her Ada, mounting his horse, carefully lifting a limp body to sit in front of him.

_"Stay with me, Alcanor,"_ she heard his silent plea ringing loudly in her head.

He was so small. Alcanor seemed so young. Logically speaking, she knew that at the time, Alcanor had been the exact same age as Legolas was now; but he seemed so young. His shoulders had not yet broadened and his chest was slim and seemed fragile. Blood was smeared across her Ada's metal armour and Alcanor's clothes, was coating his face and neck and Thranduil's hands. Limply, Alcanor's head fell back against their Ada's chest, his eyes closed and all Eyaenne could do was watch breathlessly.

Other figures were gathered around them. Eyaenne could hear their shouts to hurry, to prepare, to flee this place. Suddenly, the figures shifted as one. Bows and Arrows were drawn and pointed towards where Eyaenne herself was standing.

_"Thranduil!"_ Someone seemed to yell and Eyaenne twirled around, only barely realising that in the real world, her companions were watching her carefully. She did not usually allow pictures of the past to distract her to this extend. Normally, she kept herself in the real world, only noticing the shadows. Now, her entire focus lay on the proud figure of Lord Elrond running towards and finally through her, coming to a stop as the arrows pointed towards his chest.

Her Ada's head snapped towards Lord Elrond's shadow.

_"What more harm do you want, Elrond, half-elf?"_ The king snapped bitterly, his hard voice ringing gently in Eyaenne's head.

_"Please! I swear I had nothing to do with Eranion's attack. Stay for the night and find some rest. Let me tend to your son. Let us speak tomorrow when we are rested!"_

_"So you can murder me in my sleep? You are lucky I have not yet declared war! Do not press this luck!"_

Eyaenne listened to the orders her father had given so many years ago before watching the shadowy army leave Imladris in a hurry.

She blinked several times.

"Eyaenne?" Someone was shaking her, sounding deeply worried. She looked up and met Methelion's eyes. Shortly, she nodded, before taking a deep breath, blinking away the tears. The weight of Methelion's hands on her shoulder's steadied her. Turning around, Eyaenne grabbed Legolas' arm. Her lips thinned upon realising just what she had witnessed.

"I am fine, Methelion," she answered the worried glance. Her lips pressed together tightly. She would not trust the Noldor! She would not make the same mistake her father had made so many years back. She would not allow Legolas' to be the next one who got his throat slit through. And she would not allow for herself to be harmed again, like she had been by Elrohir when the elf had kissed her. She would not allow it. She would get them all to return safely to Mirkwood. Silently, she swore an oath to herself. She would not force her father to see his children at death's door. Not this time. Not for all the trust in the world.

"No-one wanders alone," she ordered sharply.

"What did you see?" Legolas asked her, his blue eyes hooded.

"I have seen what these people are able to," Eyaenne simply answered.

Slowly only, Methelion took his hands away, stepping back reluctantly despite the worry she could still see in his face.

The elves bowed their heads to Eyaenne's intense glare, not daring to say anything against her.

"What did you see?" Legolas repeated.

Eyaenne did not answer. How would she ever tell Legolas that Alcanor was gone? That Iarith had died? How should she tell him?

Lost in thought, the Princess let go of Legolas' arm, aware of what pain the revelation would cost him. She did not know if she could do it. Slowly, she stepped out into the courtyard, leading her group towards one of the snow covered training fields. She drew her weapons. Softly, she danced over the sheet of snow. Leathion and Roewen followed while Methelion stayed back with Legolas.

* * *

Eyaenne sighed deeply. Legolas was alive. Her heart still seemed to burst her chest every time she thought about it. She smiled. She was full of joy.

She heard footsteps and as she turned she saw Lord Elrond coming closer. Eyaenne eyed the healer, tensing visibly. Leathion, who was standing next to her, reacted similarly, but remained quiet.

"Good day," Lord Elrond greeted politely. "Does he have something interesting to say?" The Lord of Imladris nodded towards the tree.

"No," Eyaenne answered, lowering her hand from where it had rested against the rough bark. "It is deep winter. Most trees prefer to sleep during this time, only rousing if we call them. I had no desire or need to disrupt his well-earned rest. It only puts us more at ease to simply feel their presence."

It was always hard to explain the connection to the trees to elves who did not share this gift. Eyaenne felt sorry for them.

"I have everything prepared for Penneth's operation tomorrow," Lord Elrond explained.

"Thank you for performing the surgery," Princess Eyaenne nodded her head in thanks. "And thank you for taking such good care of him. He would have died without your aid."

"No one deserves to suffer the way he has," Elrond answered quietly after a few moments. "Only because Mirkwood and Imladris don't get along overly well does not mean I will allow an innocent elfling to die if I am able help him."

"Your words and your behaviour honour you, Lord Elrond."

"I was surprised he seemed to trust Glorfindel fairly quickly," Lord Elrond mused. The Princess snorted.

"I think you may be underestimating just who Lord Glorfindel is, Lord Elrond," she replied amused.

"And who is he?"

"He is the almighty balrog slayer, hero of a thousand tales, an invincible warrior who can even conquer death!" Eyaenne explained with theatrical voice, an amused smile and a roll of her eyes. "Tithen-las loved him ever since he first heard about him. He was running around the palace slaying imaginary balrogs all the time. Got him into quite a bit of trouble with the king."

She grinned and then attempted to copy the king's cold and rich voice: "This is a palace, tithen-las, no playground. If you wish to play, refrain of doing so inside and instead get out of my palace!"

She sighed and for one moment her eyes became distant. Meanwhile, Leathion did not give up on his protective stance. Thranduil had chosen him for a reason to accompany his daughter.

"He always spoke about how he would one day accomplish great deeds and meet the almighty Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin. As I know him, he would have tried his hardest to not trust Lord Glorfindel only to fail terribly at it. Tithen-las trusted Glorfindel because he wanted to trust him. Sometimes he is surprisingly naive, even though he has seen so many things he should never have had to witness."

"You seem to know him very well."

"I am … fond of him," Eyaenne agreed carefully, still willing to keep her baby brother out of any plays of power which might occur.

"I am glad he finally did trust Glorfindel. For all you call him naïve, he seemed overly distrustful."

"Nothing to do with him, more with what happened in the past," Eyaenne said lightly and yet her eyes had a hard look on them.

"Maybe from now on we can work a bit more on the relationships between Mirkwood and Rivendell," Elrond suggested carefully, eyeing the princess while he spoke.

"You saved him." She said and again her heart seemed to glow with joy. "But I still don't trust you. Too much harm has come from this place to meet my family and my home."

* * *

"So, you and Eyaenne?" Lord Elrohir suddenly asked. Methelion turned around to the elf, surprised and slightly irritated of the way the twin attempted to begin a conversation with him.

"What about my Princess and me?" He asked, not quite sure what Elrohir was getting at.

"I love her, you know," Elrohir answered strongly.

"Good for you," Methelion replied, his irritation growing. "What is your point?"

"I will fight to win her back."

"In order to win someone back, they would have to have been at your side at one point. Which was, as far as I know, never the case. However, you may do as you please. Now, if you will excuse me," the Captain of Ravenstone Outpost replied, turning to return into the house. He really did not understand what Lord Elrohir was getting at. Was the elf attempting to provoke him to a reaction? Whatever for? It wasn't as if he was in any position to tell Eyaenne who she was allowed to see and love. Firstly, she was his Princess and secondly, it wasn't as if it was any of his business.

"So you won't even fight for her?" Elrohir stopped Methelion mockingly.

Methelion turned back around to face the Noldo. This was getting tiring. He had no idea why the twin seemed so obsessed with confronting Methelion. It wasn't as if they were an item or as … oh. Prince Falin's word came back to mind. They had used the words of his prince as a friendly tease. They must have mentioned the inside joke around the Noldor at some point. Even if it was true, and he and the Princess had been a couple, it would be none Elrohir's concern. And yes, Lord Elrohir and Princess Eyaenne had kissed, everyone knew that, however, that was many years ago and nothing had come of it. So why did Elrohir seek to confront Methelion? He could not actually love Princess Eyaenne, who he had barely spent five minutes with. He did not even know Princess Eyaenne.

"No, I would not," Methelion answered after a few thoughtful seconds. Elrohir huffed, smirking.

"I am sick of fighting," Methelion explained, yet feeling too annoyed to clarify that he was not truly supposed to marry Princess Eyaenne.

"I have been fighting all my life, Elrondion. I fight every day. I should not have to fight for my love as well. I would want for the ellith of my heart to know I love her and for her to trust me. We would be separated for many weeks to combat the Darkness. We should not ever have to fight for each other's attention. Fights are not what keep a couple together. Love is. A relationship should never be built purely on fight and adrenalin, as it will not last, can never last. You should know that. A heated kiss in the middle of a battle does not substitute countless hours spent talking or even silently being in each other's presence. I do not have the strength to constantly keep fighting for her affection, being afraid to lose her as soon as I find myself unable to continue to do so. Therefore, no, I would not fight for her. If she needs me to continuously fight for her to prove I am worthy of her attention, she is not right for me anyway."

* * *

**_Please review!_**

**Thanks to my beta Jaxzan Proditur!**

**Megan:** I do have a lot of fun writing though sometimes only my stubborn streak keeps me going. While I guess I do get more reviews than most, I always find it disappointing if I do receive less reviews for one chapter than I did for the one before. Especially this last one was frustrating as I loved the chapter (as you did as well) and I knew it was something a lot of people were waiting for and I received fewer reviews than I have for a long time. Actually less than half the reviews I got for the chapter before that and as this chapter was the awesome reveal Legolas is still alive ... well, I admit I was disappointed. All the more am I grateful for such great people as you are who keep reviewing every chapter or at least try to. So thank you! I am writing this story for you guys who keep reviewing

**Guest#1: **I guess Lord Glorfindel and Lord Elrond will get back into the action in the next few chaps. But right now, the relationship between the wood elves is more important. Thanks for leaving a review!

**Guest1345: **Being obsessed with books is not a bad thing :D I am too. Though I do not find as much time for reading as I used to, sadly enough. As for good fanfiction ... well, have you read All That Remains by Skylead Alchemist? And my favourite What Time Cannot Erase by Sadie Sil (it is finished, though it does not have the 'complete' tag on it), Coldness by HelloDenmark (as well as the sequels Aid from a friend and War of light and darkness) and the very first fanfiction I ever read A Mirkwood Winter by P.L. Wynter Just check out my favourites on my profil page as well

**Guest#2: **I got to give him some time to breathe before throwing the issues at him, I guess. Maybe next chapter :D


	38. 38: Son of Thranduil

They entered the dining room together. While the table was already set, they arrived too early for lunch. Lord Glorfindel was the only one already present and he was reading a book, seated comfortably in a cosy window seat. He looked up as the wood elves arrived and put a mark in his book before setting it down.

"Good day," he greeted them with a smile as he stood up. "How was the surgery? I am surprised to see you already up and running, Penneth."

"Lord Elrond said it went all well. And I am to lie down after lunch. He has also give me something against the pain," Legolas replied. He felt how tense Eyaenne was next to him and her attitude confused him. He was well aware that his sister did not trust the Noldor and accepted it. Therefore, he smiled at Glorfindel while shaking his head slightly at the same time, apologizing for the distant tone he took.

It seemed, however, as if Glorfindel either did not care or he did not notice, for he just nodded in acknowledgement of Legolas' words and continued to speak.

"That is good to hear. Elrond is the best in his field. Hopefully, your shoulder will at least improve, if not heal completely."

"I surely do hope so," Legolas attempted to put an end to the conversation.

"You should be able to travel as soon as spring breaks, if your healing rate is any indication. Really, I wonder if all of Thranduil's children heal so quickly," Glorfindel spoke distractedly and yet, his blue eyes were keen.

"What did you say?" Legolas asked shocked. At the same time, Eyaenne pulled her weapon and stood protectively in front of Legolas. Before the youngest prince could do anything, she had lashed out and only Glorfindel's quick reflexes saved his life.

For several seconds, Legolas found himself unable to move. He knew. Glorfindel had figured it out.

"Eyaenne, stop!" Methelion bellowed, throwing himself in Eyaenne's arm.

"He knows!" The princess screamed, pushing the archer away from herself. Glorfindel now stood with his back to the window, only armed with a knife, confronted with a very angry and impulsive Thranduiliell.

"Yes, I do, but I haven't told anyone," Glorfindel spoke.

"Don't hurt him," Legolas asked at the same time. This made the female warrior hesitate. While her weapon was still pointing at the elf lord, she did not swing it anymore.

"How did you find out?" She breathed heavily.

"It wasn't too hard. I had met Penneth back in Mirkwood. He was wearing a shirt with royal stitching. We had assumed he was Alcanor's son but after we found out that wasn't true, there was only one other solution. I wasn't completely sure but Penneth reminded me of Thranduil on several occasions. He had to be his son. It took me a while, though it wasn't too hard to figure out in the end. Also, why else would he have refused to give us his name unless he expects us to know his name and make the connection. I have known for a long time."

"Does Lord Elrond know?"

"No, he does not. I never mentioned the stitching and he therefore never knew that Penneth belonged to the Royal Family of Mirkwood."

"Will you tell?" Eyaenne asked tensely, her arm shaking and her sword with it.

Glorfindel slowly lowered his knife and returned it to the scabbard at his belt. The balrog slayer straightened. His crystal blue eyes fixed the shaking princess.

"No," he replied honestly.

"What am I supposed to do?" Eyaenne asked herself.

"If you harm him, you will put all of us in danger," Methelion reminded her coldly. Eyaenne looked over to the archer she had come to trust so much. Before she could react in any way, the door opened and Lord Elrond and his family walked in.

* * *

Elrond laughed with his wife as he opened the door. Turning his head, he froze. Princess Eyaenne was threatening Glorfindel, who was backed up against one corner, with her sword, a hard look on her face. The other wood elves simply stood by.

"Princess Eyaenne! You are a guest in this house. While you stay here, you will not threaten anyone. Please lower your weapon," he demanded harshly.

Princess Eyaenne laughed madly.

Elrond could not explain Eyaenne's behaviour at all. Just what had happened?

"As if you are one to talk!" She yelled. The princess lowered her weapon though, taking a few steps back towards one of the corners.

"My brother's blood soaked the ground at this very place!" Eyaenne screamed loudly, her sword pointing toward the ground. And she was correct, Elrond realised. She was indeed standing exactly where Crown Prince Alcanor had bled onto the floor.

"Alcanor nearly lost his life here. My father nearly died in an attempt to save him. And you dare to tell me not to raise my weapon in this very place? You have brought so much pain over my family, more than you realise," she raged.

"Eyaenne," Penneth spoke gently but the princess did not hear him in her unstable condition. She seemed beyond angry. Elrond worried she might have lost her sanity altogether for there was a crazed glint in her eyes as she continued to scream bloody murder at them.

"My brother bled here!" she repeated. "I shall not allow any more of my family's blood to be spilled at this forsaken place! Enough pain has been caused here, you have given me enough cruel sights. I have had enough nightmares from the injury you caused, enough awful dreams to keep me awake at night! I will not have you betray our trust once again! You have hurt me more than anybody, you shall touch me no more! You shall not touch any of us ever again, not tithen-las, none of my brothers, not me, not my father, not a single wood elf! Your words are like glass and they cut deeply, hurt anyone who comes near you!"

"Eyaenne!" Penneth repeated harshly, attempting to get through to her.

"I have seen it! I still do! I see my brother bleeding here, I see my father struggling for him. I can hear his pleas. Do you not understand? I can hear their pleas, the shadows of words in the back of my head. And you took tithen-las, without telling us at all. Had we known right from the start, we would not have left him here on his own. You left us to rot in our pain, took away from us what is most precious. You took our hope!" The princess threw her sword away from her, hurling it against the wall. Rattling, it fell to the floor; not without leaving a deep gash in the wooden wall. It seemed as if the strain on her had been too big. Now, a dam had broken and Elrond was afraid her emotions might wash the princess away.

"Muinthel!" Penneth yelled. _Sister_.

Eyaenne stilled almost instantly.

Sister. Penneth had called her his sister. Elrond's head snapped over to the young warrior. Thranduil was taller and broader but Penneth has the same hair, the same eyes, the same tilt to his head and spirit on him. The crease between his brows whenever he was contemplating an issue. And of course his overly cautious, deliberate behaviour which had even reminded Elrond of Thranduil on several occasions. His sister. The young warrior they had housed for so many weeks was a Thranduillion. Knowing it now, it was obvious. So terribly obvious.

Princess Eyaenne deflated and tears were running over her cheeks all of a sudden. She was still breathing heavily but now sadness shone in her eyes.

"Oh, you bloody fool, Legolas," she muttered.

"Legolas Thranduillion," Elrond murmured disbelievingly. No wonder the elf had refused to give them his name. He must have assumed Elrond had heard about Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.

"They have not harmed a single hair on my head, muinthel," Legolas spoke gently. _Sister_.

"No, they cut your hair off, Legolas," Eyaenne replied, her voice an odd mixture of resignation and a mad laugh. She pressed two fingers against the base of her nose, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply.

Silence crept into the room. No one seemed to dare to move. Elrond's thoughts were chasing each other. Legolas Thranduillion. How … Thranduil did not have a son named Legolas. Well, apparently he did, but Elrond had never even known of his existence.

"May I introduce myself?" Legolas turned towards them. His blue eyes shone clear and he stood strong and tall. He did look like Thranduil if you knew what to look for. He had the same pride in his posture, the same royal shine which had confused Elrond before but seemed so natural now.

"My name is Legolas Thranduillion, youngest prince of Mirkwood." Legolas bowed, his movements precise and well-practiced.

Hearing it was something different, Elrond noticed. He pulled out a seat and sat. Celebrian followed his lead, taking Elrond's hand while staring at Penneth the entire time. The twins seemed shell-shocked, though Elladan was eyeing their wood elf friend with interest and none of his usual underlying anger.

"Alcanor is gone," Eyaenne's sudden voice rang up. Legolas swirled around quicker than the eye could follow. Elrond felt how his wife squeezed his hand tightly.

"So is Iarith. I am sorry, Legolas. We failed you. We all failed you. I am sorry!" The last sentence was a desperate sob. Princess Eyaenne placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. Her curly hair hid her face. Her shoulder's shook. Meanwhile, Penneth stared at her with wide eyes.

"No," he breathed, shaking his head. Elrond felt himself go cold. He had known Penneth was fearing for the life of his family. Apparently, he had been right to. Why, just why was never anything working out? Crown Prince Alcanor was dead. Elrond had known as much. But apparently Princess Iarith had died as well. Had it been their sorrow that had killed them? Only now did he begin to realise just how big the strain on the female warrior had been. She'd had to snap eventually. Though this could not be good. Telling Legolas who they had lost could definitely not be good. And yet, he could not even blame the princess for her forward words as she seemed so pained by them herself and had no apparent control over them.

"You are lying," Legolas laughed weakly and yet his eyes filled with tears.

"You were gone, Legolas," Princess Eyaenne spoke as if that simple sentence explained everything. She looked up and she looked so miserable Elrond could barely recognize her.

"You were gone!" She yelled again with rage, and yet, the tears betrayed it was actually emotional pain that caused her to lash out.

"It can't be true, Eyae!"

"Two survivors arrived at the border," her voice sounded broken. "Not of your patrol. But we had send you there as well. Ada rode to war. He told her … He told Iarith to stay back. The king ordered her to stay behind! She is no warrior, tithen muindor. She never was! She was never meant to come with the rest of the army! But stubborn, little Iarith … she followed in the dead of the night. The spiders got her. They say Ada fought like a mad man. But he could not save her. He had to watch her fall in front of him. HE HAD TO SEE HER DIE!" _Little brother_.

"No," Legolas whispered, tears now on his face as well. "You must be wrong. You thought I was dead too, but I am not."

"We thought you were dead because we found the decayed body of a blond elf who was not only bearing your weapons but was wearing your clothing as well! We could not recognize you by your face. But Iarith … Ada saw die. He fought over her body. She was still warm when he held her in his arms. She was still recognizable when he took her away. I saw her with my own eyes, Legolas. It was our gentle precious Iarith. I am sorry, Legolas. Our sister is gone. Forever gone. She is with Nana now."

Before Elrond could jump to his feet, Legolas collapsed. Luckily, Methelion had apparently seen it coming as he caught his prince mid-fall and gently lowered him to the ground.

"Look at me!", Elrond could hear the elf order sharply. "Look! At! Me!" The elf repeated. The next moment Elrond winced as the wood elf slapped his prince across the cheek. A lot harder than Elrond himself would have done it but it seemed to show effect. The young prince was now looking at the Captain.

"They are all dead," Legolas whispered the sentence Elrond had heard him use so often. His voice was devoid of any emotion and it worried the healer.

"They are not," Methelion objected harshly. "Eyaenne is alive, Arahen and Daeros are alive, Falin is alive, your kin- … your Ada is alive. You are!" Referring to King Thranduil as 'Ada' for Legolas' sake only brought Methelion to a light stutter. The captain spoke with a confidence that proofed he had had to speak these words before. Though Elrond had heard a bit about how bad things were in Mirkwood, this captain having to use such words often enough for him to be practiced in it frightened him. How was this elf not broken? How was it that Mirkwood had not yet fallen?

The healer looked over to Princess Eyaenne but she was in no condition to help her brother. On the contrary, she struggled with her own pain. Celebrian next to him seemed to have seen it as well as she suddenly let go of his hand and hurriedly walked over to the female warrior. Without a second of hesitation, the kind she-elf drew the hurting princess into her arms. Elrond could hear Eyaenne whisper a pained 'Nana?' and he was reminded that Legolas had confused his wife with his mother before as well. He had not even known Queen Luineth had died and as he now realised it, his heart clenched.

"Don't you dare fade, my prince. Come on, you stubborn son of Thranduil, don't you dare die on me! What am I supposed to do if you do? You do realise I won't ever be able to return to Mirkwood as your Ada would lock me in his dungeons. And your sister would surely not want to marry me either if you fade now." Methelion was speaking quickly, gently carding through Legolas' short hair to keep his attention. He kept talking and at the same time raised his right arm over his head. Two quick signs seemed to tell Leathion what to do as the soldier suddenly jumped into action. The elf grabbed a goblet from the table and filled it halfway with water before adding a seemingly oily substance from a little flask he pulled out of a pocket.

"Marry my sister?" Of all the words, apparently this sentence had caught Legolas' attention. Elrond could hear Methelion chuckle.

"Ah, well, only if Prince Falin gets his way. Apparently, I am the only one able to keep up with her besides you lot. And the king seems to agree," Methelion continued speaking. He seemed satisfied to simply have the attention of the elf in his arms, preventing Legolas from going into shock.

Leathion passed the goblet to Methelion who took it without looking up and – with encouraging words – made Legolas drink it. The captain kept talking for a few more minutes and Elrond noticed he had switched into Silvan. It almost sounded as if he was singing a soft lullaby. Five minutes later, the elf pulled his prince back on his feet before directing him to sit at the table. The blue eyes looked slightly dazed as if he had been drugged. Glorfindel worriedly came closer and after one long look, Methelion allowed the balrog-slayer with a short nod to take over. The captain left his prince in Glorfindel's care and turned.

"What did you give him?" Elrond asked. Normally, giving a person something to drink as they went into shock would be a very bad idea. However, the healer had not interfered because the wood elves seemed to know exactly what they were doing and Elrond doubted they would harm their prince.

Methelion looked up.

"Manukae oil. It is not actually oil though. It prevents the body from going to shock and helps quickly if that is already the case. As far as I know, the plant only grows in Mirkwood. He will snap out of it in about an hour. Maybe two as his body is weakened. While he will still have to mourn after that, he will not fall into shock." Methelion looked over the where Celebrian was still comforting Eyaenne. His lips thinned and he stepped into their direction before he stopped. Elrond watched how the captain exchanged a silent conversation with both Leathion and Roewen who stop helplessly nearby. All three of them eventually shrugged to show they did not know what to do.

"Maybe you should talk to her," Elrond suggested. "She trusts you and she will soon realise my wife is not her mother."

Methelion looked at Elrond and the healer could not interpret his facial expression.

"Thank you, my lord, for your patience and understanding," he spoke and Elrond smiled. This elf had decided to trust them, just as his prince had done. Whether they could convince the stubborn princess, Elrond did not know.

"I want you to know, Princess Eyaenne … she is not usually … well, like that", Methelion said. He took such a serious tone that Elrond focused entirely on the wood elf and left Thranduil's children to be taken care of by Glorfindel and Celebrian.

"She may be rash but she has never been one to attack as unprovoked as she did today. However, she is able to see what happened here in the past, to _literally_ see it. And though she tries to hide it, it affects her greatly. She sees her older brother, who she has just lost, bleed in this place. If that was not enough, she sees her baby brother, who she thought dead, getting struck down by Lord Glorfindel in your Entrance Hall only to crawl to the doors with a bleeding stomach wound."

Were she incapable of seeing all this, her attitude would be very different. I know, this does not excuse her behaviour especially towards Lord Glorfindel but please … take into consideration what she is going through before you judge her."

"I understand that she is suffering", Elrond admitted slowly, looking over to the devastate she-elf. "Her behaviour, however, is inexcusable. She attacked one of my dear friends without any reason. While I have forgiven Penneth the same, he never reached for a weapon despite his obvious fear. And unlike Penneth, Princess Eyaenne has seen proof that we do not mean to harm her or her brother or any of her friends. Legolas was all alone when he got here; frightened, in pain and alone. I do not yet know if I can forgive your princess. It will depend on her continuing attitude. So far, I am not overly impressed. Also, I will not allow her to bear weapons in my home again because I fear for my people should she react harshly once more. You are guests here and I do not condone such behaviour. Though I thank you, Captain Methelion, for telling me this. Now, you should take care of your princess."

Elrond decided to join Penneth – Legolas! He saw how Methelion was walking towards his princess and began talking to her, first in Sindarin and then no reaction came he changed back to Silvan.

Meanwhile, the healer took a seat next to Legolas' free side and looked him over.

"What have they given him?" Glorfindel asked.

"The essence of a plant which only grows in Mirkwood and apparently battles shock."

"Let's hope the Captain is right about that," Glorfindel grumbled.

"He is," Legolas spoke softly, his eyes still staring into distance.

"So your name is Legolas," Glorfindel stated. "We will get you home soon, Penneth."

Despite the medicine, a slight look of unease crossed Legolas' face.

"You don't hate me for not telling? You won't try to get my Ada to do something for you?"

"And you still are the silly wood elf I know and love," Glorfindel replied drily. "Of course we won't. Gwador, remember?"

* * *

_**Please review!**_

**A big thank you to my beta Jaxzan Proditur!**

**Megan: **That would indeed be interesting. I sorta doubt Thranduil would react all happy and smily :P I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I guess you have been waiting for this to happen for a long time

**Guest#1: **Thank you! I am so glad you enjoy the story! And here you go. I guess you have not been expecting this after me hiding Legolas' identity before :D

**Guest#2: **A bit harsh? They are downright mean to poor Elrond who is only trying to help. And this chapter did not get any better in that department. Well, maybe it did. After all, Methelion seems to understand


	39. 39: A Silver Flicker

Erestor was on his way to the gardens of the mountain fortress. He did not enjoy the dark rooms despite the beautiful lighting the wood elves had managed to come up with. It still seemed too stuffy and closed off the more time you spent there. Just how the wood elves, especially the Silvans seemed to live here without a problem, astounded Erestor.

Despite having stayed at the fortress for almost two weeks, he had not seen much of the castle. The twins, who Thranduil had ordered to show him around and keep him company, were too succumbed in their obvious pain to entertain Erestor very much. The Noldo had found a few books in the library though and had spent most of his time in either the gardens or in the book-enclosed space.

Erestor walked around a corner and collided with an elf who was striding down the hallway purposefully. He sent the elf flying onto the floor. Very long silver hair was sprawled on the ground.

"Prince Falin!" Erestor recognized the elf who groaned and pulled a face.

"Ah, I guess I deserve that for running. Good day, Lord Erestor," Falin said and took the offered hand.

"What has you in such a hurry?" Erestor asked, keen to actually talk to someone. The wood elves he had met so far all met him with such distrust it almost hurt and never spoke with him. While the twins sometimes did attempt to talk with him, it was never too long before they lost themselves in their grief.

"I was going to get Ada and then meet with Mithrandir. If you wish you may come along. You must know Mithrandir, do you not? Have you seen him yet?"

"No, I have not. I wasn't even aware he is still here," Erestor smiled benignly. He watched Falin from the side as he followed the elf through the corridors. The youngest prince did not look good either, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in messy strands. The look Erestor had seen in all of their eyes seemed deeper in the close proximity and Erestor's heart went out for him.

"Are you not afraid I could kill you all?" He found himself asking curiously.

"No," Falin replied. "Not really. I guess I trust the Noldor more than anyone else in my family. Or this kingdom, to be precise. You could ruin us by killing one of us. But if that was your ambition you would have done it the first chance you had. You did not so I surmise that is not your actual goal. I choose to trust your words until you proof me wrong."

"I am glad you see it this way," Erestor said before interrupting himself as they walked into the healing ward. Confused, Erestor quirked a brow. What were they doing in the healing ward? Had Falin not said he wanted to get his father?

He did not have any time to wonder about it as Falin strode through the ward. He stopped before a door and stared at it.

"Is everything alright?" Erestor asked after the elf did not move. Falin jumped slightly and blinked rapidly as to get rid of the tears accumulating in his eyes. He coughed slightly.

"Yes. I just … I haven't been in here since … since before they all died." With that he pushed the doors open as if he wanted to get it over with before he could lose his courage again.

Curious, Erestor followed the warrior-prince. With the first glance he recognized what could only be a private healing ward for the Royal Family of Mirkwood. Falin walked down the room between two rows of beds, not sparing them a glance. Looking around and seeing that each bed bore a small brass plate with an engraved name, Erestor understood why. The bed on the right hand side in the very front was covered by a white linen. So was the third bed on the right and the fourth on the left side. Realising those beds had belonged to family members who had died, Erestor lowered his head in sadness.

Meanwhile, Falin came to the far end of the room where wide balcony doors were closed. The seating area on his left side was abandoned but Thranduil had taken place sitting opposite of Daeros and Arahen.

Erestor slowly joined Falin who was lowering himself into a chair at the table. The Noldo felt like an intruder and kept himself back. The twins were looking slightly better.

"Please, Arahen, just a bit more," Thranduil demanded softly. He was attempting to get his sons to eat. The younger elf met the blue orbs, sighed and reached for the spoon to continue eating, though it was obvious he only did it for his father.

The Rivendell delegate watched how Thranduil put his head into his hands. He swallowed. Never before had he seen the king looking like an ordinary elf, troubled and desperate. Thranduil never allowed anyone to see this side, apparently not even his children, for his action caused the twins to look at each other with a worried frown. Their silver eyes suddenly grew more aware and even their posture straightened up as they tore themselves from their grieve.

"Ada?" Three voices asked simultaneously. The elf with the silvery-blond hair looked up, scanned his sons features and smiled sadly.

"Stay with me, my boys," he whispered. Erestor cleared his throat. Thranduil jumped to his feet so quickly he staggered.

"Forgive me, my king. It was not my intention to intrude," Erestor bowed. The king's face had morphed into a cold mask as soon as he had laid eyes upon the Noldo.

"I brought him here, Ada. I didn't think. I just suggested he come down with us to meet with Mithrandir," Falin intervened before his father could say anything. He pushed a stray lock of his long silver hair behind his ear.

"In that case, we should go now," Thranduil spoke coldly after one second of silence.

"Daeros, Arahen, will you be alright on your own?"

"We will come with you," one of the two – Erestor could not tell them apart – answered and stood. His brother followed his lead.

"I rather you not," Thranduil replied, though his words were not an order.

"We … I …," the elf stuttered, tears coming to his eyes. "I have to … to see him. What is left of him."

Thranduil's long arm closed the distance between himself and his son and more gently than Erestor had thought the strict and cold elf capable of, he brushed the tears away.

"I understand," he spoke and his voice was distant and contemplating.

With that, he gestured his twin sons to lead the way. Both of them were clad in similar white garments. Erestor suspected them to be hospital wing issued sleeping gowns.

"They are struggling," Falin whispered to the librarian as they left the private wing. "Daeros and Arahen suffer deeply. They have almost given up completely. Only Ada is keeping them here anymore. They are close to fading and their condition only improves slowly, if at all."

"Do you have athelas and gwethweed in your stores?" Erestor asked, remembering how Elrond had treated fading with those plants. While they worked weakly, they were the only things that _did_ work on fading at all. Their smell lifted everyone's spirit and in case of fading, this could be vital.

"Yes, of course, but what for would you need them?" Falin asked puzzled.

"If you could give some of them to me later, I shall show you," Erestor promised.

Erestor was in awe as he followed the four males down the halls and stairs. He was led through big caverns and in small creeks tiny rivers were loudly falling deeper into the mountain. Water sprayed and echoed through the hallways. Light played tricks with Erestor's eyes and mind, lighting the great beauty within the mountain fortress, throwing colourful specks against the rough wall above waterfalls and seemed to carry a soft music.

He followed the silver-haired elves further and further down. Suddenly, an unearthly scream disrupted the sound of cascading water. Goose-bumps covered Erestor's skin and he shivered. Looking over to Prince Falin next to him he saw the set jaw and the tears in his eyes. So this was what Crown Prince Alcanor sounded like, he realised.

They went down a set of stairs. Erestor felt as if he should not be here. King Thranduil and his sons seemed as if they were in trance and it was with deep worry that Erestor followed the once so proud elves. The Noldor elf felt adrenalin rush through him and forcing him alert. It was as if he was marching into battle and not to stand in front of a prison cell.

And then, they arrived at their destination.

* * *

Methelion, Leathion and Roewen had accompanied Princess Eyaenne outside. Before, the captain had taken Glorfindel's promise to take good care of the young Thranduillion. Since then, Legolas had gotten agitated as the effect of the manukae oil had worn off. He was speaking so quickly, Glorfindel had trouble understanding him.

"Listen to me! It is not your fault!" Elrond could hear Glorfindel speak urgently. Elrond exchanged a worried glance with Celebrian. The set dinner table remained empty; Elrond had notified the chefs in the kitchen that they should cancel the meal and if possible serve the food for lunch the next day.

There was a knock at the door. It distracted the healer from Legolas' quick, desperate words and the tears that were once more falling.

"Enter," he spoke and rose. The opening door revealed Captain Methelion.

"Excuse my interruption," the elf spoke with urgency. "Have you …" The wood elf stopped himself as his eyes landed on his prince who he apparently hadn't noticed momentarily. Quickly, he bowed before his prince but after being completely ignored – if Legolas even realised the elf was there – he turned back to Elrond.

"May I have a word in private, Lord Elrond?" He asked softly, his eyes trained firmly on the healer.

Elrond's brow furrowed. One glance showed that Glorfindel too had heard Methelion's words and was now distracting Legolas while simultaneously attempting to get him to calm down. It was obvious the captain did not want his prince to know about the conversation he intended to have with the Lord of Imladris.

"Of course," Elrond answered. He gestured Methelion to leave the room and followed him with Celebrian at his side.

"What is it?" He asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Have you seen Princess Eyaenne?" Methelion asked bluntly.

"No … why?"

"She ran out on us. We can't find her," the captain explained. "Please, do not let Prince Legolas know. He'd only worry or worse, think she left him now after she told him about the death of two family members."

"You do not think she left?" Celebrian asked worriedly. It was easy to foresee what would happen with Legolas if Eyaenne had left Imladris without him: He'd fall apart completely, if not fade himself.

"No. She ran off because she realised what she did. As I told you, Princess Eyaenne does not usually react in the way she did today. Realising she pulled her weapon on Lord Glorfindel … It made her comprehend how unstable she is. She needs time to admit that to herself, no doubt not without self-directed anger. However, she would not have left Imladris. No offence, but she doesn't trust you as far as she can throw you, especially not with her baby brother who she had thought dead. We only worry because she should not be alone right now. I am afraid she might get lost. At the moment, she will hardly be able to watch her steps and she does not know the area."

"I understand. Do you know where she could be?"

"I am almost certain she'll be in the forest close by. I simply wanted to check here first in case she went to see Legolas."

"Look for her. If you find her or need help finding her, please notify me immediately," Elrond said.

"Thank you." Methelion bowed and made to leave. He stopped a few meters down the hall.

"My lord," he called back. The half-elf turned back to him.

"If my Prince does not calm down soon and you should consider drugging him, you might wish to dose him with gangaroot. Do not use pepperweed, it would react with the remains of the manukae oil and have him act up even more instead of putting him to sleep." With that, the elf left.

Elrond smiled slightly, despite the situation. To suddenly be trusted by one of the wood elves from Mirkwood was a nice change. The captain had just given him the permission to drug Legolas to get him to sleep. The healer had been playing with the idea, worried about Penneth's health, especially considering the fact that Elrond had performed surgery on him only a few hours prior. The elfling definitely needed all the rest he could get.

* * *

Not being able to help his curiosity, Erestor stepped forward so he could look into the cell. His breath caught in his throat the moment he lay eyes on the creature inside it. It looked like an elf, if one could ignore the glowing red eyes and the emotion of utter hatred on his face. A strong, broad-shouldered elf who looked exactly like Thranduil. Erestor could imagine that when this creature had actually been an elf, his eyes and posture would have betrayed his youth and made him look younger than his father. But now, with the orc in command, the beast could be the king's twin. Could be, if it hadn't been for the heavy air surrounding the beast. It was as if you could breathe the darkness, as if it thickened the air around this orc.

Erestor could only stare, his mind running through hundreds of ideas, only to dismiss them a second later. Nothing Erestor had ever read in the vast libraries of Imladris had ever prepared him for this, nothing that could explain or help. It felt wrong. The Noldo could feel his inner light shine stronger around him as if it felt threatened by the encaged darkness in the shell of Alcanor's body.

Breathlessly, Erestor looked over to Thranduil who stood still like a statue, with his face cold and devoid of any emotion. Unlike the halo surrounding Erestor, the king did not shine. A quick glance betrayed neither did the twins or Falin. Their inner light had faded too much to protect them against the darkness this thing was emitting. Instinctively, Erestor shifted so he could shield the king with his own aura of elven light. His heart was literally aching in his chest.

Arahen stepped forward before Erestor could stop him. The lost elf, whose eyes carried so much pain, stepped close to the bars.

Suddenly, the creature inside the cell leapt forward. A war-roughened hand grabbed the elf and pulled him brutally against the bars. A sound of surprise escaped Arahen's lips before he screamed in pain. A strong arm snaked around the elf's neck, threatening to snap it within seconds.

"No!" Thranduil's broken voice rasped as the king jumped forward. The king lunged for orc-Alcanor's arm, attempting to pull it away. The utter panic in his eyes was heart-breaking. Quickly, Erestor stepped up as well, grabbing orc-Alcanor's wrist and forcing his lower arm between one of the bars and his hand, so the beast would not be able to pull his arm closer and snap Arahen's neck.

"Alcanor!" Thranduil whispered desperately, still attempting to pry the long fingers away from the twin's neck.

Something flickered. Erestor looked up into the face that looked so much like that of the king, had it not been disfigured with hatred. Another flicker. This time, Erestor saw what caused it. The red eyes shifted to silver for a bare moment. And then, all of a sudden, the red vanished and silver eyes met his.

Thranduil succeeded in pulling his son free from the hard grip, all while Erestor stared into silver eyes.

"My king!" He rasped, unable to let go of the grip he had on Alcanor's wrist nor able to look away.

The silver eyes shifted to meet his father's bright orbs, before lowering on Arahen who was being held by the tall Sinda. Realisation dawned in the young face. Shock displayed over the fair features and the Noldo saw his suspicion confirmed: While Alcanor looked a lot like Thranduil, his posture and eyes betrayed his younger age. Erestor was gently pushed away from the bars and he let go of the person behind it, stepping out of reach.

"Stay away," Alcanor managed. A grimace crossed his face. He gritted his teeth. The eyes flickered once more.

"Ada!" Was the last word Alcanor managed before blood flooded the bright orbs once more. The next moment, orc-Alcanor raged against the bars.

"I love you, ion-nin," Erestor could hear Thranduil whisper, before the king turned, his arms still wrapped around Arahen who seemed to be in shock, and pulled him away. _My son._

Erestor looked back at the creature in the cell. Somewhere inside this creature, Crown Prince Alcanor was still present. And he seemed to be strong enough to fight the orc if that beast was about to harm someone dear to him. Alcanor was still there! And Erestor would find a way to free him, he swore himself. With determined strides he followed Thranduil, only stopping to pull a shocked Prince Daeros with him. He'd help Mithrandir to find a way to free the Crown Prince of Mirkwood. And if it was the last thing he did, he would succeed!

* * *

It was late at night when Elrond returned to his own room. He had spent the evening in quiet discussion with Glorfindel. The Mirkwood Prince, who had been their guest for so many weeks already, had been asleep in his bed. Elrond had drugged him after receiving Methelion's indirect permission. They had decided to better not leave the young elf alone.

There had been no word from his kin. Apparently, they were still searching for their princess. Elrond felt a bit bad about the harsh words he had directed towards her. However, at the moment, when he had walked into the dining room only to see her threatening his best friend in his house, he had been so shocked and afraid the situation would escalate. He had not taken into account just how she must have felt. Hopefully, it hadn't been his words that had driven the princess away. If he trusted the Captain however, it had been her own behaviour that had frightened the princess.

Elrond frowned. There was light coming out from the door to the healing ward. He fastened his steps and pushed the door open. A brown haired elf looked up.

"Lord Elrond," Methelion nodded, ignoring him otherwise. He walked over and pulled several drawers out and opened two cabinets before he found what he was looking for and returned to the figure lying on the bed. Concentrated, he leaned over the unconscious Princess. The single lamp by her bedside did not spent enough light for Elrond to see much.

"What happened?" He worried and hurried towards the bed. If Princess Eyaenne was injured on his ground … well, should Thranduil find out, he would surely lead Mirkwood to war. He looked the female warrior over. Her silver eyes were hidden behind closed lids and her curly hair was falling in her forehead. Methelion was leaning over her hand and with shock Elrond saw that her hands were bleeding heavily, swollen to almost twice their size. Quickly, he pushed Methelion out of his way and took over.

"Water. I need you to clean the wound!" Elrond snapped an order and the wood elf hurried away before he could answer Elrond's earlier question. The healer lit a few more candles because he needed more light. With an angry frown, he washed his hands, all signs of tiredness vanishing from his features as he focused on his new patient. A quiet curse came over his lips. The right hand had already been taken care of by Captain Methelion, surprisingly professionally as well. He took the bandage off and checked the wounds. One of the knuckles was broken and Elrond added another balm to the mix, leaving the bandage away so the wound could breathe.

"What happened?" He repeated his question from earlier, pulling a chair close to sit down and focus on the now cleaned left hand as well. All anger had drained from the healer and a familiar calmness had taken over.

"I told you, she would be angry at herself. She kept hitting that bloody tree with her bare fists when I found her, yelling how sorry she was over and over again. I pulled her away. For a minute or so she just raged against me before … she just lost consciousness. I got her back as quickly as I could. I couldn't find you, or anyone else for that matter, therefore I tried tending to her wounds myself."

"I was with Glorfindel and your prince. He is asleep by the way. The others will be in the hall of fire."

"Ah, I didn't check there."

"It doesn't matter. Her hands will heal nicely. Where did you learn about healing? You did a good job there." Elrond said and straightened up. It had looked worse than it actually was. He took the gloves off he had put on earlier and stood.

"I am a trained healer. You get a lot of practice in Mirkwood, even though most of what I do is usually field work. Stabilizing the wounded and taking them back to the next stronghold. I haven't handled with proper medicine in ages. Bloody and broken knuckles are thankfully fairly easy however."

Elrond nodded and began cleaning up. The Captain stood to help him but the Lord of Imladris waved him away. Not knowing where everything was, the wood elf had made quite a mess of the room, one which was easily tidied up though. If you knew where to put everything, which the wood elf didn't.

"What about your companions?"

"They are still outside looking for Princess Eyaenne. If you allow, I would like to tell them I found her."

"Of course, but first, help me carry her to her brother. I think both of them would appreciate not waking up alone and with their sibling nearby", Elrond spoke and already searched for a stretcher.

* * *

_**Please review!**_

**Thanks to my beta Jaxzan Proditur!**

**Does anyone know some good LotR fanfictions I could read? No slash or Mary Sue or anything like that.**

**Guest#1: **Thank you for your kind words. The last few weeks were tough but slowly everything seems to fall into place again.  
I am glad you enjoyed the big reveal, it was a difficult chapter to write and I had actually written diffrent versions of the reveal before settling on this one. I might put a chapter out there as soon as the story is finished with all the bits I wrote but did not use because they didn't fit into the plot.

**Megan: **Yes, the truth is out. Took long enough. And sneaky Glorfindel knew for a long time :D Thank you very much for your awesome reviews!

**Guest#2: **See answer to guest review #1

**eleevne: **They all do have interesting gifts. While I have not explained, where these gifts come from, I personnally think they come from Thranduil's side and not Luineth's. But that is a point of interpretation

**Guest#3: **I am so very glad you all liked it. It was difficult to write (see Guest review answer #1) I just can't imagine Glorfindel not knowing as he had grown so close to Legolas. And I liked the idea of Legolas over-thinking everything, while Glorfindel just wants to know his gwador save and happy and would never dare to hurt or use him

** : **Thank you for your understanding. The last few weeks were tough, but I am back to writing know. It might still take a bit longer between chapters, but hopefully not another five weeks

**Guest#4: **Thank you. Hope you had a great Christmas as well. That little comment made my day!


	40. 40: Mirkwood's Hope

"Would you please stop pacing?" Elrond's voice sounded dangerously from where he was seated in the sitting room of the guest chambers they had given to Penneth once he had left the hospital wing. Glorfindel stopped and glared at his old friend. A cup of steaming hot tea in one hand, the elven Lord was attempting to read in a book and was now glaring up at the balrog slayer with hard eyes that left no room for argument. Methelion was sitting in an arm chair by the window and looking outside, Roewen sat in front of the fire and Leathion was twirling his dagger in boredom. The small sitting room was incredible crowded, not devised for so many people.

Glorfindel sighed and threw himself onto the settee. Staring at the beige ceiling, he huffed quietly. His foot was twitching, unable to keep still. They had heard Penneth scream in his sleep before, no doubt another nightmare. The balrog-slayer had wanted to storm in but Elrond had held him back as the screaming had stopped. With everyone deathly silent staring at the door, they had heard muffled voices. The princess had woken to the screams and no doubt could take perfectly good care of her brother. Currently, they were waiting for the two royals to join them. The longer they took, the more concerned the balrog-slayer became.

Elrond had returned to his book and now reached over to place a hand on the blond elf's trembling leg to stop the irritating movement. Without meaning to, Glorfindel started humming, unable to process his anxiousness otherwise. The book snapped shut and Elrond straightened.

"Am I interrupting?" Princess Eyaenne suddenly asked, before the healer could commit murder.

She was standing beside them, her shoulders squared and with an air of nervousness around her. Her hands were heavily bandaged, but otherwise she seemed fine. The door leading to the bedroom behind her was open and now Penneth walked out as well.

"Move over, gwador," Legolas meanwhile ordered Glorfindel distractedly. The dark circles underneath his eyes spoke of the return of his violent nightmares as much as did his horse voice. His pale pallor had returned and he seemed about as sickly as he had after he had first gotten here. Worried, the Noldo warrior wondered how his new friend would behave now that he knew two of his siblings dead. However, he forced the dark thoughts away and grinned as he sat up and scooted to one side of the settee. The young Thranduillion slumped into a free seat and closed his eyes. It was obvious the wood elf was feeling save next to his Noldo friend.

"No, you are not interrupting," Elrond answered relieved. Instead of finding a chair for herself, the princess sat on the broad armrest of Methelion's armchair. The captain made to stand and offer his seat but Eyaenne placed a bandaged hand softly on his shoulder for him to remain seated.

"Thank you for your help yesterday," Eyaenne spoke to her fiancée before she turned to Elrond and extended the same gratitude towards him. Afterwards, she hesitated for a long moment as if fighting with herself. Then, she spoke up once more.

"I wanted to apologize, Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel. My behaviour was inappropriate and … ah, well, it was inappropriate," the beautiful she-elf stated awkwardly.

"Awesome apology, Eyae. Short. Precise. And very –"

"Shut up, Legolas," Eyaenne snapped with an annoyed roll of her eyes. And yet she was smiling. A ghost of a smile flittered across Legolas' features as well and the pain was lifted from his face.

"Threatening me was a bad move," Glorfindel said with in his dry way. "I accept your apology, my Princess," he then continued, surprising everyone. The she-elf blushed slightly and nodded her head in thanks.

Lord Elrond and Princess Eyaenne began an awkward conversation. Methelion got up and got a second chair as Eyaenne's position could hardly be comfortable for a longer time.

"Thank you," Legolas suddenly directed towards Glorfindel.

"You're welcome. Whatever for are you thanking me, though?"

"For forgiving her. She didn't mean it. Eyaenne reacts to pain with violence. Though normally she starts hitting things. Like she did yesterday. The only person she would hurt is herself. I have never seen her lose composer like that before and she felt pretty bad about it after she calmed down afterwards. She was just scared you'd take me away." Even his voice was softer than it should be, the balrog-slayer noticed. Not knowing how to respond to this sadness, he felt as though he should be able to help better. So he simply nodded, wondering what he could say to make his friend feel better or at least help Penneth accept the emotional pain and begin processing it.

The balrog-slayer attempted to converse with Legolas and draw him out, yet the wood elf was in a dark mood and his widened eyes filled with horror and pain made it clear what he was thinking about.

"If you allow, Princess Eyaenne, we should go to the healing ward and have another look at your hands again," Elrond spoke after some time. The she-elf nodded and stood. The other wood-elves followed her lead except for Legolas who remained where he was. A soft sentence was spoken in the Silvan language then and Eyaenne frowned and pursed her lips. For one long moment, she scanned Glorfindel before she nodded and reluctantly left.

Looking up, the blond Noldo met the eyes of his old friend and gestured for him to leave without him as well, sensing that Penneth wished to speak with him. It warmed his heart the young one apparently felt save enough with him to seek him out. Elrond understood and quietly ushered the remaining elves out, closing the doors behind them. Then only the cracking fire spent the two blond elves company.

Glorfindel looked at his young friend. It pained him to see the young wood elf suffer so deeply. Still not knowing what to say, he simply put his arm around Legolas' shoulder. The elfling willingly let himself be pulled against the elder elf's side.

"It is my fault," Penneth whispered after a long pause.

"Nay, it was not," Glorfindel gave back gently, having tried with determination yesterday only to be met with deaf ears. Though he doubted this was something the elfling would understand anytime soon.

"Yes, it was. I was the captain of this patrol. I knew what danger we were in. But I was too stubborn to turn back, too eager to win my Ada's pride. Do you understand? I was so egoistic, thinking if I claimed back our land, my Adar would be proud of me. I led my patrol into danger. They got slaughtered because of me. And Iarith … had I turned back upon realising I could not reclaim our land, we would not have been attacked. My patrol would be alive and Mirkwood would never have ridden to war and Iarith would have never followed and would have never been killed by spiders because …" The rest of his hasty words were swallowed in hiccups and tears. Glorfindel wrapped his free arm around him.

"Your father had forbidden her to come along. And was he not the one who ordered your patrol south in the first place? Tell me, Penneth, was it his fault that she followed him anyway? Was it his fault your patrol died?"

He was unprepared for the sudden movement as Penneth jerked up, hitting his head against Glorfindel's chin in the process. Having had his tongue between his teeth, the elf curse quietly about the hot pain.

"Of course it wasn't! She was only trying to help in some way! And my king might have given the order but we are always allowed to disobey them if they prove wrong in the situation at hand!" Legolas protested with angry eyes that reminded Glorfindel once again he was not only holding a suffering elfling but one who was a skilled warrior.

"And why do you think it was your fault then?" Glorfindel asked, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth. For a long moment, Legolas just stared at him. His face twisted in a mask of utter pain and turmoil. He lowered his head.

"I thought all I had to do was to return home for everything to return back to normal," he admitted with a broken voice. "That everything would be fine once I was back. I feared my family mourning about me, but I had not actually anticipated anyone would die. It is my fault, Glorfindel. I should not be here. I should not be here. It _is_ my fault."

"I was the one who brought you here," Glorfindel reminded him.

"But you would never have had to had I paid better attention in the first place!" Penneth yelled angrily.

Glorfindel paused. No matter what he said, the elfling was too stubborn to listen to reason. He sighed. He had promised himself to never dwell on it again and yet, for this elfling's sake, his gwador … he would. His blue eyes took a distant glance as if he was asleep. Reaching blindly for his young friend he unrelentingly pulled him back against his side.

"The day Gondolin fell," he began slowly, feeling how he left reality in sake of losing himself to memories he had hoped to forget, "started very nice. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the children dancing over the grass. I was sitting with Feawion. You remind me of him sometimes. I grew up with his father who was my gwador and Feawion was very dear to me. We were celebrating the festival of Tarnin Austa. Morgoth's attack was unexpected and hit us fully unprepared. The sun was just setting, when it happened. The horizon glowed red and the snow in the mountains turned to blood."

Glorfindel continued to tell the ghastly story of how the balrogs, dragons and orcs had destroyed the once beautiful city of Gondolin. Flashes appeared unbidden before his eyes … riders galloping towards them, their frantic cries speaking of Morgoth's attack … fire and ash … the loud crashing when the iron gates had given in … cries of anguish torn from desperate lips … his gwador, dying in the flames, shoving a frightened Feawion at him … running, running through the destruction … a flash of brown hair … Tuor coming towards him, handing him his son Eärendil … dragons, giant beasts … more flames … the wall was breached … fighting … blood everywhere, blood around him … Feawion, where was Feawion? … Turgon's yell from the top of highest tower: "Great is the victory of the Ñoldoli!" … heat burning Glorfindel's lungs … a wall crumbling with agonising slowness … Feawion's cry … Glorfindel twirled around and his gwador's son's fear stared in his eyes … Feawion holding his stomach before falling to his knees … more blood, even more … Turgon's tower collapsing … yells, desperate yells … he was torn away from Feawion's body, dragged with the remaining Noldo, fleeing … protecting the rear … his sword slippery in his hand … the wood elf, Legolas, leading them out … a balrog descended upon him … fighting … dying … dying in the flames …

Nothing …

Stillness surrounded Glorfindel, his eyes widened with the memory and staring blindly ahead. Once more he had felt the sting of dragon's fire, had felt the pain of fighting a balrog. He had delved too deep, he realised, unable to push the memories back. Fire and ash. Blood. Fire, more fire.

A warm body shaking against him. With all will power, Glorfindel looked down. Legolas. Blue eyes blinking heavily against the tears.

Unable to speak, Glorfindel drew Legolas closer. He needed the contact just as much as the elfling, if not more. He had delved too deep. His soul ached in his chest and tears streaked over his cheeks. Another face appeared before his eyes, the face of another wood elf who had once carried the same name. Legolas, who had led them out of Gondolin, who saved Idril, Tuor and Eärendil. He shook his head slightly. It was not the same Legolas. Though for one moment, Glorfindel wondered if Thranduil had named his son after this wood elf guide who had led the survivors to safety despite all odds. Who had been hailed as their only hope.

_Calid amdir_, that was how Thranduil's people called his youngest son. Two different elves bearing the same name but both with a heart of gold and a stubbornness to defy all odds. Both representing 'hope'.

Minutes passed and turned into an hour while Glorfindel held onto the trembling form, struggling to regain control over himself. The memories had washed him away and the guilt in his heart had returned.

"I lost Feawion," he was capable of saying after a long time. His voice sounded horse even to his own ears. "I tried to save him, but I lost him."

"Why did you tell me this?" Legolas voice sounded soft and Glorfindel knew he had terrified the warrior.

"Because I need you to know it wasn't your fault. Just as it wasn't my fault Feawion died. I tried to save him and I could not. But it wasn't my fault. For a long time, I blamed myself. It tortured me. To have lost him. I know how the guilt feels like that rages inside you, mellon-nin. But you have to understand, this is not your burden to carry. Or would you say it was my fault that Feawion died even though I protected him to the best of my abilities?"

"Nay," Legolas mumbled, hiding his tears against Glorfindel's shirt.

"Adaroth?" The elfling shook him out of his thoughts. He stiffened in surprise.

"How did you just call me?" He asked slowly, a confused frown on his brow.

"Adaroth," Legolas repeated shyly.

"What does it mean?"

Legolas hesitated. When it seemed he would not answer, Glorfindel asked again, curious now.

"It means '_uncle'_ in the Silvan language," the elfling admitted stiffly. Glorfindel stared down at him, disbelief in his blue eyes.

Overcome with emotion, he kissed the blond hair. A smile spread over his lips.

"Thank you," he gave back.

"I am sorry you had to remember."

"Nay, it doesn't matter. Just remember we all carry guilt that does not belong to us. Do not make the same mistake I did and carry this guilt for too long. You are not responsible for either your patrol's death, nor your siblings'. It wasn't your fault."

Soon after, Legolas straightened up. He reached for his injured shoulder and Glorfindel had to assume the position had not done the injury any good. Silently, he watched how the elf cleaned his face and straightened.

"I will bring home and I will make sure you will see your father again," he promised and nothing short of a balrog would be able to stop him from fulfilling his promise. To Glorfindel's horror, the assurance caused tears to form in the blue eyes and then to quickly fall.

Legolas hastily raised a hand to cover his eyes and turned away.

Legolas felt himself being pulled into a gentle embrace and he returned it, closing his eyes and clinging to Glorfindel, sobbing. Kneeling on the ground in front of him, the balrog-slayer did not care that his knees began to hurt after a while. He stayed like that until Legolas' had calmed down. And despite the puffy and red eyes, he looked better after it. For a glint had returned to his eyes which Glorfindel had missed, a glint of hope.

* * *

Eyaenne leaned against the tree. She felt the soft thrumming of life underneath the thick bark and it soothed her soul. Wind was hurling her hair over her shoulders, only to change direction and blow it back into her face. Paying it no heed, Eyaenne enjoyed the wildness of the cold gusts. Tiny snowflakes were meeting her skin and melting quickly. She felt … strange. The feeling had confused her and despite wanting to know Legolas close, she had come to see how much her brother trusted these Noldor and how much he was trusted in return.

Elrond had taken the bandage of her left hand off, seeing as the knuckles had been bloody but not broken. On her right hand, he had applied new salve. The procedure had been highly uncomfortable for the princess. She felt afraid whenever she was around the Noldor. Ready to be hurt, always on edge.

She had felt Lord Elrond's brown eyes on her and the gentle softness in his glance had made it difficult for Eyaenne to remain seated. It shouldn't have been there. The gentleness did not fit with her emotions of distress whenever she was around the elven Lord. He was as kind as summer. And that hurt. For some reason, it hurt so much.

Therefore, she had quickly left the house to find some solitude. The feeling of strangeness had driven her outside, seeking the comfort of the trees. Gladly did she notice that the cold wind did not bite into her skin anymore; elven endurance of cold weather having returned to her with her inner light.

Eyaenne flexed her muscles and jumped upwards, easily finding a grip on a branch of the big lime tree and swinging herself upwards. With steady steps, she walked over the branches. Shortly after, she sat down, leaning against the tree trunk, one leg dangling over the ground and with her arms wrapped around her other knee. From up here she had a good view over the vast whiteness that covered the large courtyard and grass area. Through the falling snow she could see the dark edge of the close forest and the entrance to the beautifully sculptured gardens.

Looking over the white blanket, dark mist suddenly seemed to shift over the plain. Eyaenne tensed upon realising it. She did not want to see more of the shadows of the past. She didn't. But against her wishes, the mist formed to two figures walking out through the entrance doors. Despite not wanting to see it, Eyaenne could not help herself but look over.

One of the shadowy figures was her brother. Eyaenne pursed her lips upon realising how heavily he leaned on the figure besides him. Long, light hair let her to see Glorfindel in the figure. The shadow of the elf lord looked up and the princess felt a song deep in her chest. She shivered and it was not because of the cold, but because of the fact that this was Lord Glorfindel, the balrog-slayer. The song in her chest spoke of his might and strength and his fair face. It resonated in her lungs, making her gasp for breath. How could Lord Glorfindel hide this aura normally?

The figures stopped. Even from the distance, she could see Legolas raise his head in wonder, his bad arm tied to his chest, his good arm around Glorfindel's shoulder who supported him with an arm around Legolas' waist.

_"Are you in pain?"_ Glorfindel's worried voice rang noiselessly in Eyaenne's ears.

_"This is snow,"_ she heard the wonder in Legolas' words.

_"Ehm... yes, yes it is."_

_"I have never seen snow before,"_ she heard her brother say and she came to realise it was true. In Mirkwood, the many branches and leaves that did not fall even in deepest winter stopped the snow from falling to the ground. Sometimes small patches of white snow were seen, but it was soon turned muddy by animals or the wind dispersing it into every direction. Nothing like the large plain in front of the Lord Elrond's House.

Two other shadowy figures distracted her and the next moment she could watch a snow ball flying through the air. Glorfindel moved swiftly, stepping in between her injured brother and the snow, catching it with his body.

_"I can show you what we do with snow here, Penneth," _Eyaenne could hear him smile before he took off his cloak. Placing the cloak on the ground, he helped Legolas to settled before he turned. A few minutes afterwards, a snow ball fight had broken out between Lord Glorfindel and the twin sons of Lord Elrond. Seeing the great balrog-slayer twirl to avoid the snow, sprint and hurl his own projectiles against the twins, made her laugh. She did not hear how her own musical laughter for she could only see Legolas enjoying himself. Only a few minutes into the fight, the tall figure of Lord Elrond stepped out. The shadow of the past brought a hot tea for Legolas and two blankets. After he had wrapped Legolas' into them, Lord Elrond had sat down beside him, watching his old friend and his sons while he was quietly conversing with Penneth, who in turn did not turn his eyes away from the display of an epic snow battle.

The shadows slowly faded and Eyaenne had to blink a few lonely tears away. This memory had not been how she had feared. Instead it had been the opposite. And the princess assumed she had just witnessed what had turned out to be the beginning of the trust her brother put into the Noldor.

Eyaenne shook her head. With surprise she noticed she was not alone anymore. Methelion sat on a branch to her side, his legs folded underneath him. His knives, bow and the quiver filled with red fletched arrows reached over his shoulder. He smiled upon becoming aware of her glance. She had not even noticed the Captain joining her. How long had she been gone that Methelion had come to look for her? Slightly guilty, she nodded in thanks for his silent companionship. Facing the wind and looking towards the far forest, she felt oddly at peace. Without thinking, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around Methelion's. He allowed it to happen and she could feel his thumb absentmindedly caressing her knuckles, careful to avoid the wounds she had inflicted upon herself.

For a long time, they sat together in silence, holding hands and enjoying the quiet around them. It was beginning to dawn when Methelion first spoke.

"This place is filled with such peace I envy it."

"What do you mean?" Eyaenne asked, looking up to him. His eyes held a softness to them she had not seen before when he met her gaze. His free hand moved to grasp her wrist in a gentle touch.

"For the last two days, I did not even think about the next fight," he explained. "There are no orcs here threatening to kill innocent people, no comrades dying while I rest, no friends fighting for their lives to protect this Realm. Here is peace. I haven't seen peace in … well, I have never seen peace in all my life. And here … it almost takes my breath away." Tears glittered in his eyes and Eyaenne understood how much this peace and actual rest meant for him. He was the Captain of Ravenstone Outpost. He had fought many enemies and had had few breaks in between. And those had been filled with dread and the desperate need to heal as quickly as possible so he would be able to return to the fight.

The princess sighed. She knew that feeling. To never have peace. And now that she thought about it, she had felt that peace for the last few hours, sitting here with Methelion. No, even before then. It had been that strange feeling she hadn't even been able to place. That feeling that had driven her out in the first place. Was she so unused to complete peace that it over-whelmed her? She had not worried about Legolas, Roewen or Leathion. As much as she distrusted the Noldor … she did not actually think her people would meet enemies here. The deeper meaning of this thought struck her. The Noldor were not her enemies. They did not fight them or try to harm them.

"You are right," she managed with rough voice and met Methelion's soft gaze. With him by her side, she felt more at peace than she had ever thought possible. She smiled softly before returning to watch the snow fall. His warm hands around her own and his still presence beside her calmed her and a soft smile appeared on her lips and remained there.

Only when it was time for dinner did the two elves leave the tree. Methelion gently squeezed her hand before giving her free, jumping to the ground before her and watched her do the same afterwards.

* * *

_**Please review!**_

**If you haven't done so already, please check out my new fanfiction 'The Cartographer of Greenwood' and leave a review!**

**Guest#1: **I am glad you enjoyed the last chapter that much, though I apologize for making you cry :D Hope you liked the Legolas part in this chapter

**Guest#2: **Good to see people like the Mirkwood side of the story as well :D I really enjoyed writing that part. And thanks for the recommondation. I will check it out

**Megan:** Thank you for such glowing support! I do enjoy writing but some scenes are more difficult than others and sometimes life is busy too :D

**Guest#3: **Yes, I have read that one (wild ones) and I checked out the other one and I quite liked that one as well


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